Through The Rift
by SquirrelWho
Summary: When Sherlock decides to help a mysterious woman who can't remember her past he inadvertently starts a war between himself and his brother. Mycroft will stop at nothing to learn her secrets, but when Sherlock begins to unravel them he gets more than he bargained for. It seems even high functioning sociopaths can fall in love. (low grade M) RoseLock.
1. A Game Of Fate

I've been toying with 3 different ideas for new RoseLocks and I decided to start with this one. Hope you enjoy it! :)

Low grade M rating, some people might consider it T, just so you know. :)

* * *

John walked up the familiar steps to Sherlock's flat, a flat he once shared with his best friend, but that had been three years ago. Before the fall. Before Sherlock was forced to fake his death by the most dangerous criminal London had ever known.

During that time he'd grieved the loss of his closest friend. The man whose friendship had saved him. But he didn't grieve alone. He met someone and with her help he began to heal. That is until his best friend returned from the dead, opening a wound that hadn't fully healed, but that wasn't anything a few good punches, a broken nose, a few stitches, a few days of anger, and a massive bomb couldn't fix. But then that was friendship.

He heard voices coming from the open door as he drew near. Sherlock and Mycroft. Brilliant. Separate he could handle them, but together they became genius children. Always trying to outdo each other and don't even get him started on the sibling rivalry.

"I don't understand why you won't help me," Mycroft said. "I am your brother after all."

"Which is exactly why I won't help you, Mycroft," Sherlock retorted.

Brilliant. John stepped into his friend's flat. They seemed to be having a game of chess, but he knew better than to believe it was merely a game and definitely anything, but simple.

"You will if I win," Mycroft replied.

"You won't," the detective said.

Another game over some case. He hated walking in on these.

"Won't I?"

Mycroft lifted his only remaining knight and a moment later Sherlock's queen was in his hand.

"That's not legal," the detective snapped, sitting forward and eyeing the board.

"It's perfectly legal. Mother's laws Sherlock, remember?"

What the hell did that mean?

Sherlock hissed, sitting back.

"Your move, dear brother," Mycroft continued.

"I won't do it," Sherlock snapped in that childish manner.

The one that always overcame him when he was around his brother and sometimes when he wasn't.

"You will if I win. You made an agreement."

"I'm changing my mind."

Mycroft eyed his brother.

"You can't change your mind halfway through the game, Sherlock."

"I can. It's my game."

Again with the childishness. John shook his head. Mycroft sighed.

"Don't be such a child." The elder Holmes caught sight of John. "John, do make him see reason, won't you?"

Make Sherlock see reason?

"What makes you think I can do that?" he asked.

"He listens to you."

John almost laughed at that.

"He doesn't listen to me."

Sherlock narrowed his brows. John just shook his head.

"Of course he does, though he might not admit it, but you know how intransigent my brother can be."

The detective eyed his brother.

"Why not have John do it?" Sherlock asked.

Have him do what? Was he trying to pawn the elder Holmes' case off on him? Probably. Sherlock had done that more than once.

"Oh, do be serious, Sherlock," Mycroft scoffed.

"I am being serious," the detective replied, moving his castle to capture Mycroft's last knight. "Your turn brother."

He glanced from one Holmes to the other.

"Why not have John do what?" John asked.

"It's not as if he lives alone. He's got that…woman…what's her name…"

"Mary," Sherlock offered.

"Yes, Mary."

Mycroft nodded. What did having Mary have to do with taking a case?

"Oh, so because I live alone I should be burdened?"

Wait. What did Sherlock mean by that? What would it matter if he lived alone or not?

"This is of national importance," Mycroft insisted.

"Your importance you mean," Sherlock corrected.

"I need to know who she is."

Hang on. What? She?

"Take her to a doctor then. I hear they do wonders for people."

Were they talking about a woman?

"Her? Her who?" John asked.

"Don't you think I've tried that? Twelve doctors. Ten psychiatrists. And still nothing," Mycroft said, ignoring the doctor.

Wait. What?

"And you think I can do any better?" Sherlock asked.

"You can't do any worse," Mycroft replied capturing Sherlock's castle with his own and then sitting back.

Was Mycroft trying to get Sherlock to help him with a woman? One who had some form of amnesia and who had been subjected to a host of doctors and psychiatrists because Mycroft wanted to know who she was?

"What's this really about, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the elder Holmes.

"I'm sorry?" Mycroft asked, as if he had no idea what his brother was talking about.

Were they playing a game over her? Oh, John had seen them behave like bastards before, but this, this took the cake.

"If it were that important for you to find out who she is you'd have set up a round the clock vigil, but here you are trying to pawn her off on me."

"Oi!" John shouted, finally having enough of the two. Both men turned to him.

"Did you want something, John?" Sherlock asked.

"Just to clarify," he snapped. "Are you two having a game of chess to determine the fate of a woman whose mental state is so delicate that she's seen twelve doctors and ten psychiatrists?"

"Yes, of course," Mycroft replied.

"Really, John, how else would we determine where she goes?" Sherlock inquired.

He contemplated punching both of them, which he knew wouldn't do any good, well, it would make him feel good. Instead he shot to his feet and headed into the kitchen, fuming.

"What're you doing?" his friend inquired.

"Making tea," he snapped.

"I'll take a cup when it's ready."

"I'll give you something all right."

"As you were saying," Sherlock replied, obviously returning to his conversation with Mycroft and completely ignoring John, which was fine with the doctor at that moment.

"She…" Mycroft cleared his throat. "Doesn't appear to be very…taken by me."

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock inquired.

John could almost imagine the elder Holmes shifting uncomfortably and as if on cue he heard the unmistakable sounds of Mycroft shifting in the chair.

"I tried to question her on more than one occasion. The first of which she told me, quite literally, to sod off." John couldn't help smiling at the thought of some woman telling the elder Holmes to sod off. "The second she called me a few unsavory names and threw her tea at me. Ruined what was a very expensive suit."

"Check mate," Sherlock announced.

"Damn!" Mycroft exclaimed. "Wait. But-"

"Mother's rules, remember, brother dear?" John heard Sherlock shift. "I'll take the case."

"Sorry?" Mycroft asked, in shock.

"You can bring her round this evening. Say seven. I'll make all the preparations."

"Really?"

"Oh, come brother, how could I turn down someone who obviously cares for you as much as I do."

"Yes," Mycroft replied and John could hear the contempt in his voice. "Right."

John popped his head back in the room as Mycroft stood up and crossed the room toward the door, but the elder Holmes paused before opening it.

"Your job is to find out who she is, Sherlock."

"I don't need you to tell me how to do my job, brother dear. Now, why don't you go play with your trains or something until this evening?"

Mycroft glowered at Sherlock and then he opened the door and stepped out. John returned to the kitchen, threw together two cups of tea, and then walked into the living room. He sat Sherlock's cup on the side table with enough force to slosh some of the tea on the arm of his friend's chair.

"Careful," Sherlock snapped.

"Right," John replied, sitting down across from the detective in the chair he still thought of as his chair, the one Mycroft had been sitting in. "So, it's all right with you then?"

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked as he put the chess pieces back on the board.

"Deciding someone's fate over a game?"

"Ah," the detective said, sitting back and catching John's gaze. "I've disappointed you again, haven't I?"

"You could say that, yeah."

"What would you have me do, John? Rescue her from the clutches of my evil brother?"

"That would do."

"Haven't I done just that?"

"Sorry?" John asked, taken back.

"She'll be arriving here in five hours twenty-one minutes," Sherlock replied, glancing at his watch.

"You planned this?"

"From the moment he arrived, well, three minutes after. He does like to drone on."

"And you let me believe you were being as much of a bastard as Mycroft?"

"And it worked."

He couldn't help grinning. He should've known Sherlock was playing along. His friend had changed a lot in the years they'd known each other.

"So, she'll be here at seven and then what?" John asked.

"You'll help me of course," Sherlock replied taking a drink of his tea.

"Right. Of course," he paused eyeing his friend. "Wait. What do you mean _help you_?"

"Set your old room up for her. Make sure she's comfortable. Take care of her."

Wait. What?

"Sorry?"

"She'll need looking after, of course. Especially after Mycroft's not so hospitable treatment and you did comment on her fragile mental state."

"I'll, well, I'll help, of course, but, Sherlock, I can't be here round the clock."

Sherlock gave John that _you have something better to do? _look.

"Why not?" his friend asked.

"Well, there's Mary and my practice," he pointed out.

He dismissed both with a wave of his hand.

"So, tell Mary you need a few days and I'm sure you have some sick leave saved up."

"Not really, I've used most of it on our cases."

"So, call in."

"I can't."

His friend gave him a pleading look, one he saved up for these occasions.

"You've got to," his friend insisted.

"And besides. Amnesia can last for days, weeks, years. You know that." Sherlock looked beside himself. Did he really believe John would drop everything and stay there however long it took? He could see answer. Yes, that was exactly what his friend thought. "I'll stay tonight and a bit of tomorrow if for nothing else than to assess her and make sure she's settled in. After that I'll check on her every day, but that's the best I can offer."

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	2. His Majesty

Because 1st chapters get lonely. :)

* * *

Rose had been trying to work a way out of the white hospital-type room she'd been banished too for the last two months. Ever since she offended His Majesty by assaulting him with the only weapon she possessed, hot tea. It wasn't even that hot, what with the milk and all. Even though she'd been banished she thought it was worth it, but now, two months gone and she hadn't even managed to get into the hallway.

She hadn't liked him from the moment she laid eyes on him. That wasn't like her, at least she didn't think it was, not that she actually knew who she was. She knew her name, well, her first name. Rose. At least, she thought it was her name. It felt right. Other than that she had no clue.

Her past was a complete blank. She knew things, physical things like talking and walking and throwing tea. She couldn't help grinning at the memory. She also knew stuff. Words and what they meant, well, mostly what they meant. There were words like TARDIS, which wasn't a word. She knew it wasn't, but it was there, in her mind. And Doctor. Not a doctor, but Doctor as in a name, but there was no face, no history to go along with it.

She also knew she should have other faces, other names. Like her mum and dad, and brothers and sisters, but there were no faces, no names. No friends. No home. No job. Nothing. Just the name Rose and a feeling that it was hers. She kept it because she liked it and it was the only thing she had.

Most of the time though she was torn between crying and murdering someone, but she didn't think she'd actually do the later. Then again she didn't know who she was. For all she knew she could be some crazed serial killer. Maybe that's who she really was. Maybe that's why no one had come for her. Maybe that's why they locked her up. Hell, she didn't even know where she was. It seemed like a hospital, all white and sterile like, but what sort of a hospital? The kind for sick people or the kind for people who'd gone round the bend? She felt like she'd gone round the bend.

And if it was a normal hospital why wouldn't they let her leave? Why had they paraded doctor after doctor through the door, poking and prodding and asking questions? Of course she knew what a lamp looked like, though it had been hard after the fifth one not to shout out something completely off the wall like _elephant, or oh, uncle Henry, that's where you got to. _But she knew that'd only make her stay longer.

The door slid open and His Majesty entered with that same look of someone who thinks their better than everyone else. _Stupid apes. _The words came in a flash. Spoken not by her, but by a man, a man whose face she couldn't see.

"All right there?" His Majesty asked.

Did he know? Had he seen her face? She didn't think so, but she couldn't be sure.

"For someone whose been held prisoner going on three months? Yeah, I'm brilliant," she retorted.

"You're hardly a prisoner."

"White room, bed," she gestured behind her, "toilet over there," she gestured at the far wall, "hospital gown, socks, no shoes, can't leave, am I missing anything?"

"You haven't been held here. You've been cared for."

"Cared for?" she asked, eyeing him.

She believed him about as far as she could throw him.

"You've had the best medical care-"

"You mean that parade of quacks you've been sending through my door?"

"They are the best in their field I assure you."

"You might consider getting your money back."

He shifted in a way that told her he'd rather be anywhere else, but there, which was fine with her since she'd rather he was anywhere else.

"Yes. Right," he replied, eyeing her distastefully. "Well, as lovely as this has been I've come to inform you that you're being released."

"Released?" she asked, slowly, not at all buying what he was selling.

"With supervision, of course."

Oh, of course, she rolled her eyes, which meant she was swapping one cell for another, and if she was lucky she'd get a window.

"Supervision?" she asked, wondering what he meant by that.

Armed guards, doctors, an officer at her door.

"Since we don't know who you are we can't locate your family and with your illness-"

She rolled her eyes.

"I've got amnesia. It's not an illness. Means I can't remember anything."

Another distasteful look and he almost seemed to want to roll his eyes, which made her grin. Annoying him was more fun than she'd had in…well, that she could remember, since she couldn't remember anything from before.

"I know what it means. The point is Ms...Rose," He said her name as if there was something wrong with it, earning a bit of a glare from her. "…you can't very well be left on your own."

Which wasn't true at all. He didn't want to leave her on her own. Only, she wasn't sure why. He'd asked her questions, loads of questions, and everyone he sent in asked them. What was her name? Where had she come from? What did she do for a living? Who did she know? How had she gotten in his study?

"I'm sure I could make do," she replied.

"There are legality issues to consider-"

"I'm more than willing to sign something for legality purposes."

"Which I would be more than willing to do if it not for your state of mind."

What he was actually saying was that she really was a prisoner, but he couldn't actually hold her so he was making something up.

"My mind's fine. Just can't remember anything."

"Not according to the doctors."

"The ones you paid you mean."

"You can always remain here if you prefer," he offered, which was more of a warning for her to keep her opinions to herself. She could tell.

Her choice, in fact, wasn't a choice at all.

"So, supervised release. What's that mean?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"It means you'll have your own room in a flat in London."

"And the supervisor would be?"

"My brother."

There was more than one of them?

"Your brother?"

"Yes. You'll be sharing the flat with him."

So, her options were seventh circle of hell or seventh circle of hell. Brilliant.

"So, it's a co-ed flat then?" she teased.

He gave her a not at all amused look, or maybe that was his normal look.

"Yes. Well, I'll of course provide you with clothing, amenities, and a modest allowance."

And he was doing that why? If there's one thing she knew, even if she didn't know how she knew, nothing was free. There was a reason, but she decided to cross that bridge later.

"What about my things?"

"Are you referring to the clothes you were wearing when we found you?"

Found? Was that the word used when referring to someone who woke up in a room surrounded by six blokes pointing guns at them? Somehow that didn't seem to fit, but she let it slide.

"Yes," she replied.

"I had them burned," he said.

She'd hoped getting her clothes back, what she was wearing the night he _found _her, would give her some clue as to who she was or jog her memory. She knew, and again she didn't know how she knew, that amnesia patients could gain their memories back by being in familiar surrounds. It didn't always work, but it was a chance. She didn't have familiar surroundings, but her clothes might help. She felt that hope die and she thought it was the worst thing she'd ever felt.

"Why would you do that?" she demanded.

He gazed at her as if she was about as threatening as a beetle scurrying across the floor. She felt compelled to slap him, hard, but she resisted the urge…barely.

"They were far too badly damaged to be saved. I did, however, manage to salvage your…trainers, are they called?" Well, that was something at least. "I'll have them brought to Sherlock's flat if you like."

"Sherlock?" she asked, the name seemed familiar.

"Yes. He's my brother. Do you know him?"

He seemed…suspicious and maybe a bit…worried? She couldn't be sure.

"No, just seems a bit…odd, but then again Mycroft sounds a bit strange too," she replied, hoping to throw him off by irritating him.

His eyes narrowed, which told her it worked.

"Well, then," he replied turning toward the door. "I'll send someone in with a change of clothes."

"Shoes would be nice too," she replied wiggling her toes, inside the socks.

He glanced at her feet, not at all amused.

"Yes," he replied before turning back to the door.

It slid open and he stepped out. A flat, which meant a door. Would there be a guard? She wasn't sure, but she could figure that out once she got there. And there were always windows. She didn't think she was afraid of heights.

Sherlock, the name still seemed familiar, well, whoever he was he had to sleep and that's when she'd escape. She had no idea where she'd go. Only that wherever it was it'd be as far away from Mycroft as she could get.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	3. 221 Baker Street

Rose felt butterflies form in her stomach as Mycroft's black sedan parked next to a set of flats. She wasn't sure why he was releasing her, but she knew it wasn't to help her. He wanted something from her and he wasn't going to let her go until he got it.

What waited for her on the other side of that door? A room in a flat, but that could mean anything. Mycroft opened the door and stepped out, she did likewise, but the driver was beside her a moment later. More muscle than driver and she knew if she tried to run she wouldn't get more than a few feet before he drug her back and for all she knew Mycroft would stuff her back in the car and she'd wind up back in that room.

No, best to play along for now. Assess the situation and her possible escape routes. She gave the driver an annoyed grin and then walked around the car and followed Mycroft up to the door. She smoothed out the knee length black skirt nervously as he rang the bell.

A moment later the door opened to reveal an older woman with a pleasant smile.

"Mycroft," the woman said, as if she was actually pleased to see him, but how anyone could be pleased to see the arrogant sod Rose couldn't figure.

"Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft replied, civilly, but not as if he actually cared for the woman.

He stepped inside. Rose followed. Mrs. Hudson looked her over and smiled. "You must be the young woman who'll be renting John's old room," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Rose," she introduced, returning the woman's smile as she offered out her hand.

"Rose," Mrs. Hudson repeated. "That's a lovely name."

"I'm sure you two will have more than enough time for idle chitchat, as for me, I have a schedule to maintain," Mycroft said and then crossed the room and started up the stairs.

"Sorry," Rose apologized.

"Oh, it's all right dear. He's always like that."

She gave Mrs. Hudson another smile and started up the stairs after the man she loathed. She liked the woman and couldn't imagine why she put up with Mycroft and his brother, if he was anything like the other man. Maybe she didn't have a choice either. Maybe this was where Mycroft took people he wanted to keep to himself.

By the time Rose reached the landing he was standing just inside the open door. There was a bloke standing in front of him, a bit shorter, sandy hair, and he was looking at Mycroft as if they didn't really get on. Mycroft wore a similar look.

"Everything's in order," Mycroft asked as she stepped in the room.

"Yep," the man replied shortly.

"And my brother?"

"He's out at the moment, wrapping up a case."

"You'll be here until he gets back?"

"Of course."

"Very good," Mycroft said, taking on a patronizing smile. Then he turned to Rose. "Well, then I suppose this is goodbye, for now."

She nodded, but chose not to say anything because she couldn't trust herself not to shoot of one of three scathing remarks that were on the tip of her tongue. She was too close to freedom to ruin it.

He stepped out the door and a moment later the bloke he'd been speaking to closed it. He didn't seem at all pleased with Mycroft and she couldn't help wondering at that. Was he also trapped there? In the next moment the bloke turned around and gave her a smile. Genuine, like the one Mrs. Hudson had given her and she couldn't help smiling in return.

"Hi," he greeted.

"Hello," she replied.

"Sorry about him, he's a right prick." She laughed, which made him smile wider. "I'm John by the way, John Watson."

He extended his hand and she shook it, feeling the same familiarity at his name as she had with Sherlock's.

"Rose…" she paused. She couldn't give her last name because she couldn't remember it. "Um, just Rose."

"So, then just Rose would you like some tea?" he asked.

"Tea would be brilliant," she said.

He walked into what she assumed was the kitchen, leaving her alone in the room. Why would he do that? Was he, in fact, a prisoner too or was this a test? If it was a test and she tried to leave he'd know and she'd either be locked in her new room or sent back to her old one. _Assess the situation. _It was her thought, but it seemed like something she'd learned. Where would she learn something like that?

Well, the best way to learn about her surroundings was to observe them. She walked around the living room, taking in everything. Two mismatched chairs sat in front of the fireplace. Both chairs seemed purchased for comfort, not style. Side tables. The one near the red print chair was littered with papers and an open book. The fireplace mantel held an assortment of objects. She walked over and picked up the one that caught her eye. A human skull. At that moment John popped his head in the room, checking on her, or checking that she was still there. She wasn't sure which one.

She raised the skull and quirked her eyebrow.

"Friend of yours?" she teased.

"Friend of a friend actually," he joked. "Tea'll be done in a minute. Have you had anything to eat? Mrs. Hudson brought up some biscuits this morning."

"I'm famished. Never did like hospital food." He gave her a quizzical look and then seemed to understand as his brows drew together and she was fairly sure he muttered something that sounded like _bloody bastard_, but she couldn't be sure. "Biscuits would be fantastic," she continued.

"When Sherlock gets back I'll make a run to the fish and chip shop round the corner."

"Chips?" she asked, barely able to hold back her excitement. She hadn't had chips in…she couldn't remember. She'd had them, she knew she had and that she loved them, more than anything, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd had any.

"That all right?" he inquired.

"I could bloody kiss you for a plate of chips," she exclaimed.

"Yeah, best not, the wife would kill me," he replied, holding up his finger and indicating the ring. Then he grinned and she smiled back. "But I'll still get you the chips."

"You're brilliant," she said as he popped back into the kitchen to finish making their tea.

She sat the skull back down. She looked at the glass case sitting next to it, containing…was that a bat? Yep, and a bunch of beetles. She grinned. Sherlock was definitely…different. Before she could look at anything else John entered the room with their tea.

"You can sit down, if you want," he said as he crossed the room.

She sat in the red print chair. He handed her cup over and sat down across from her. She took a drink and closed her eyes a moment. Letting herself enjoy the fact that she wasn't in a hospital room wearing a white gown and worried about who would be walking through the door.

"Are you all right?" John asked and she could hear the concern in his voice.

"Yeah," she replied, opening her eyes and looking at him. "I'm fine."

She wasn't, of course, but the words came out before she knew what she was saying, as if it was something she said when she was anything but fine.

"Look," he said, sitting forward. "I don't know what Mycroft put you through. I can guess." At this his face took on a bit of anger for a moment. "But I want you to know that you're safe here."

He seemed so concerned about her that she realized he wasn't testing her. He seemed to actually care. She could see that in his eyes.

"He didn't hurt me, if that's what you think. He just…" She felt the weight of the last few months, her whole life as far as she could remember, bare down on her and it was more than she could handle. "…asked me questions that I couldn't answer because I can't remember anything and he kept asking me and then he sent other people in to ask me, but I couldn't answer them either and he wouldn't let me leave and no one came to get me and I didn't know where I was or who I was or what happened to me, why I couldn't remember and…" She trailed off, feeling warm hands cover hers.

She looked into his kind eyes through the veil of tears in hers. She hadn't meant to lose control like that, but he was the first person who had been kind to her. There might have been others before, but she couldn't remember them. She threw her arms around his neck and only realized then that she wasn't holding her tea anymore, but she didn't care. The tears trailed down her cheeks as her body wracked with sobs and she didn't think she'd ever be able to stop.

"It's all right. You're safe," he soothed.

In the next moment the door opened, startling her. Was it Mycroft? Had he come back for her? She pulled away, quickly, but the man who entered the flat wasn't Mycroft. He was tall, thin build, curly locks of dark hair. He glanced at them, a bit like Mycroft, calculating, but also a bit not.

"What's going on?" the man asked.

"You're brother's a bloody bastard that's what's going on," John shot.

Brother? So, this must be Sherlock. She wiped the tears from her eyes, not wanting anyone related to Mycroft to see this side of her.

"Stating the obvious again, John," Sherlock remarked as he removed his coat and scarf, hanging them up by the door.

Stating the obvious? Did he dislike his brother as well?

"Do you know what he's done to her?"

Sherlock paused as his eyes roved over her a moment, making her feel vulnerable after her recent break down. The last thing she wanted was for someone to study her before she pulled herself back together.

"Judging from the lack of physical evidence, bits of dirt, dust, pollen, fibers, and other traces that are picked up in our daily contact with the outside world and its inhabitants I'd say she's been kept in a sterile environment…hospital room or laboratory. The coloring of her skin suggests she was held in said environment for two, possibly three months. And we've already been informed of the twelve doctors and ten psychiatrists he's forced on her, which accounts for her mental state."

John sat back down in his chair during Sherlock's deductions and although Rose couldn't help being impressed by his observations she was also bordering on anger at his callous fact stating and the mention of her _mental state _set her hackles up, but instead of yelling at him and pointing out what a callous bastard he was being, which would probably reinforce that whole jab at her mental state, she eyed him.

"Brilliant observations, Sherlock, but you've made a mistake," she replied.

His eyes snapped to hers as his brows drew together in annoyed confusion.

"Mistake?" he asked, as if he'd never heard of such a thing.

"_Was_ held, suggests past tense when I've in fact traded one prison cell for another, albeit a more homey one, but a cell nevertheless."

He raised his brow and a moment later her words seemed to sink in.

"No one is holding you here. If you'd like to leave be my guest." Then he turned to John. "If there's tea, I'll take a cup."

"Right," the man said, standing up, seeming a bit confused, but he walked into the kitchen.

Sherlock took John's seat across from Rose, but she was paying more attention to what he said. Leave? Could she actually just leave? Or was this the test? What would he do if she got up and walked out? Would he stop her? Would she find someone else on the other side of the door?

"This isn't a trick," Sherlock said, as if he could hear her thoughts. "If you want to leave neither I nor John will stop you and the only person on the other side of that door is Mrs. Hudson and although she might chat your ear off she won't try to stop you, but…" At this he sat forward catching her gaze, "…there is still Mycroft. He'll be watching my flat. He's always watching my flat and he will find you and there's a chance he won't bring you back here. You're only here because I convinced him that I would help him get the answers he seeks."

"But that's not your intention?" she asked, reading between the lines. Something she seemed to be good at.

"Very good Ms…" he trailed off, seeming to have realized he didn't know her name.

"Rose," she supplied. "Just Rose."

"I intend to find out who you are, but not for Mycroft."

She wasn't sure if he was helping her for herself either. She couldn't tell, but as long as he wasn't helping his brother she'd take that.

"Thank you, Sherlock," she replied, giving him a smile that he returned and she couldn't help noticing how much younger it made him seem.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	4. Assessment

Sherlock observed the woman who sat across from him. Rose. When she supplied her first name he learned two things. One, she was used to people calling her by her first name, as there hadn't been any hesitation when she supplied it and two, she couldn't remember her last name.

During their short conversation he realized he'd been wrong in his assessment of her. He assumed upon entering and finding her in John's arms, having let her emotions take over, that her mental state was indeed delicate, as his friend suggested, but it seemed more of a momentary weakness as she'd pulled herself together quickly and pointed out the flaw in his observation, which wasn't actually a flaw, but from her perspective she felt he'd made a mistake. She was much stronger than he believed.

He knew Mycroft wouldn't have caused actual harm to her. His brother wasn't a monster, though he could do well acting the part. Mycroft wanted information and, although, torture wasn't above his brother, as he'd done to Moriarty, this woman didn't pose the same sort of threat. Although, from Mycroft's behavior and insistence he knew his brother believed her to be some sort of threat. Mycroft was holding back the truth and without that he couldn't be entirely sure the lengths his brother would go to, to get it.

Being held in laboratory conditions, isolated, and removal of all personal items for a length of time and having someone incessantly ask questions that couldn't be answered could be enough to break people, but she was stronger than that. Although she clearly struggled with her transition, indicated by her momentary weakness, she smiled easily and joked with John before he headed out to the fish and chip shop.

"I have been wondering about something," he said, drawing her attention. She quirked her eyebrow. "What exactly made you throw your tea at Mycroft?"

She grinned, obviously amused at the memory, and he couldn't help smiling in return.

"I might have overreacted…a bit, but he'd been asking me the same questions for three days straight and I was getting sick of his whole game. If I didn't know the answers the first time then why he'd think I'd know them the third I couldn't figure."

"He said you called him a few, in his words, unsavory names."

Her grin widened.

"Now that was entirely his fault. I merely mentioned that he was completely mental. According to Albert insanity is the act of doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different outcomes." At this he raised his brow. Albert as in Albert Einstein, but where most people would refer to the famous man by his last name she chose his first and the manner in which she spoke the name was more inclined to someone who knew him, but judging by her age that wasn't possible. "He didn't take that very well at which he tossed out some scathing remark that he didn't think I'd understand so I called him a bloody wanker and told him to sod off."

Sherlock laughed and she joined him. At that moment the door opened and John stepped in carrying her fish and chips. His friend glanced between them, but before he could comment she launched herself off the chair and ran across the room toward John.

"Oh, my god. I bloody love you," she exclaimed, kissing his cheek as she took the fish and chips from John's hands. His friend stood there dumbfounded.

"Um…right…" Then John eyed him, catching the amused smirk and pointed a warning finger. "Not a word of that to Mary."

Sherlock sat back.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Seriously, Sherlock."

John gave him one last warning glance before heading into the kitchen. Rose sat back down in Sherlock's chair, her entire focus on the food in her hands as she devoured one chip after the other. He turned back to his tea and his thoughts. He'd lost her interest for the moment, but he could get back to that later. Discovering her identity was going to be challenging, but he always liked a challenge.

**-0-**

Sherlock was sitting in his chair by the time John descended the stairs after settling Rose in the upstairs room. His friend had been up there for forty-seven minutes and Sherlock deduced that John had been doing an assessment of her condition.

"What have you found?" he asked as his friend sat down across from him.

"It's definitely amnesia," John said.

"Obviously," Sherlock dismissed. At his friend's quizzical look he continued. "She wasn't lying. There were no tells, no hesitations."

"Right." John gave him that look, the one Sherlock associated with annoyance. "It's a pretty complex case. I don't think it's related to a traumatic experience because it's not isolated bits of her life. She can't recall her parents, siblings, friends, associates, where she lived, worked, anything. It seems to have affected her long term memory, but aside from some form of damage to the frontal lobes of her brain, which according to the reports Mycroft gave you isn't the case."

"Her short term memory appears to be unaffected."

"Right."

"So, a woman without a past. One, according to my brother, no one has been looking for." John gave him a quizzical look. "Mycroft has been monitoring the police stations, Scotland Yard, Interpol, keeping an eye out for missing person fliers."

"That's strange."

"It's brilliant." He steepled his fingers. "Quite challenging."

"Sherlock, there is a woman involved."

The detective's eyes snapped to him.

"I'm aware of that, John. A woman who would like answers and I'll get them."

"Just don't forget she's a human being."

He rolled his eyes.

"I'll work out the puzzle you worry about saving her," he replied as he stood up.

John gave him a disproving glance, but he ignored his friend as he headed into the kitchen. One of Mycroft's people brought over her things among which were a pair of trainers. The only items that weren't new. She must have been wearing them when his brother located her. He knew Mycroft would have had them analyzed, but he preferred running his own analysis and it was something to do to pass the time while he waited for the hours to tick by until she woke.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	5. Bad Dreams

Rose looked around the…ship. She was on a ship, but not the kind that traveled the ocean. The sort that traveled the stars. And she wasn't alone. There were…creatures. Creatures encased in metal. Daleks. She didn't know how she knew, but that's what they were. Aliens.

"YOU KNOW THE DOCTOR," one of the Daleks said, spinning around to train its eyestalk on her. "YOU UNDERSTAND HIM. YOU WILL PREDICT HIS ACTIONS."

"I don't know," she heard herself insist. "And even if I did I wouldn't tell ya."

The creature drew closer, threateningly.

"PREDICT. PREDICT. PREDICT."

Her eyes snapped open. She sat up and drew her knees to her chest. It was a dream. Just a dream, but felt so real. Daleks and one of them had mentioned the name the Doctor. It was the same name that was in her mind, another name without a face. The Doctor. Who would call themselves the Doctor?

She sighed, glancing at the clock. 3 a.m. Brilliant. Well, she wasn't going to get anymore sleep tonight. Not after that. Sherlock and John would probably be in bed by now, but if she was quiet she could make a cuppa and find something to read. She noticed a load of books downstairs earlier.

She stood up and crossed the room, opening the door slowly so as not to disturb anyone. She knew Sherlock had a room, or assumed as much since he lived there, but she wasn't sure where John would be sleeping.

She descended the stairs into the dark living room. Only, it wasn't as dark as she thought it was going to be. The light was on in the kitchen, lighting up the room enough for her to see that the couch and chairs were empty. Was John still up?

She crossed the room and stepped into the kitchen, but instead of finding John she found Sherlock sitting at the table and gazing into a microscope, two open laptops on either side. He looked up when she entered and then glanced at the clock as if he wasn't sure of the time.

"Couldn't sleep," she replied, answering his question before he asked.

He returned his attention to the microscope as she crossed the room to the kettle she spied on the counter, but a moment later he seemed to think better of it and gazed at her.

"Anything…I can do?" he asked, as if he wasn't sure that was the right thing to ask.

"It's just bad dreams, is all," she said.

"Ah."

"Where's John?"

"Mrs. Hudson made up the spare room down the hall."

He returned to his microscope. She picked up the kettle and filled it and then set it on. Then she turned around and watched him for a minute. He seemed to be examining something on one of the slides. The sight was so familiar, as if she'd seen it done and, possibly, done it herself. After a minute he looked up, a bit annoyed.

"Something I can do for you?" he asked, in a _please say no _sort of voice, but she ignored that, mainly because she didn't want to be on her own. She'd had enough of that for the past three months.

"What are you doing?" she inquired.

"Trying to run an analysis."

She wondered over to him, which deepened the annoyance he wore. Then she caught sight of one of her trainers on the other side of his microscope. He was running an analysis on her trainers? Why would he do that? Then it clicked.

"You're trying to figure out where I've been," she said. "That's what the laptops are for." His annoyance slipped and something else took its place…curiosity. She drew up next to him and sat her hand on his shoulder as she bent down looking from one laptop screen to the other. "You're looking for any compounds, minerals, pollen, plant life, things like that, that I might have come in contact with so you can pinpoint any locations I might have visited."

He glanced from her hand that was on his shoulder to her eyes, as if he wasn't sure why it was there, but at her words his brows drew together.

"How did you come to that deduction?"

She caught his gaze, her face mere inches from his and grinned.

"It's obvious, really." He raised his brow. "You're trying to find out who I am and something from my past would help you. My trainers are the only things that I have that aren't new so you'd want to check them for anything that could give you an idea of where I've been. Once you figure that out you can go there, probably take a picture, find out if anyone remembers me. If you're lucky you might find someone who actually knows me or at least my name."

"That's…correct," he replied, as if he wasn't sure how she worked that out on her own, which made her smile.

"So," she said, standing up and taking her hand from his shoulder. "What've you got?"

He caught her gaze and smiled.

"Something interesting."

She grinned. He seemed so pleased how could she not?

"Don't hold out on me."

He sat forward and started typing on the laptop closest to her. She bent down and watched his hands fly across the keyboard, again getting that feeling of familiarity. A moment later he sat back and caught her gaze, very pleased with himself.

"What do you make of that?" he asked, in a _there's no way you'll figure this out _sort of way.

It was a challenge and she accepted, gazing at the readings. It was a mineral compound, but one completely unknown to the software.

"You're using outdated software?" she asked.

"There are many areas Scotland Yard falls short on, but outdated software isn't one of them."

She glanced at him, quirking her brow and grinned.

"Did you hack into Scotland Yard's forensics department?"

"Yes," he replied, "but you're missing the point. Somehow you've come into contact with an alien mineral." She knew he meant alien, as in unknown, but his use of it reminded her of the dream she had and it unsettled her. He seemed to notice, giving her a curious glance. "What is it?"

"'S nothing," she said, but he continued to watch her. The kettle boiled and she stepped over to the counter and made both of them a cuppa, trying to busy herself in the hope that his attention would be drawn back to his analysis. The last thing she wanted was to get into some nightmare she had about aliens. It was just a dream, but when she turned around he was still watching her. Waiting. She sat his cuppa down on the only clear spot on the table and then sat down in the chair next to him with a sigh. "It's just…the dream I had. I know you mean alien as in unknown substance it just reminded me of my dream. That's all."

She gave him a grin as if to say she thought it was mental too, but he wasn't smiling. Instead he seemed…very curious.

"You had a dream about aliens?" he asked.

"More of a nightmare, but yeah. Daleks, they're called." He raised his brow. "Creatures encased in metal. They look like giant pepper pots with these eyestalks."

"Eyestalks?" he inquired and she could tell he was having a hard time picturing it.

"Here," she said, rooting around the table until she found a napkin and a pen, there wasn't any paper. Then she drew an image of the creatures she'd seen in her dream. When she was finished she glanced at it and almost shivered. Just looking at it reminded her of how afraid she'd been. "They look like this."

She handed the napkin over and he examined it.

"I've never seen anything like it."

"I probably saw something like it in a movie or maybe on a poster."

"Daleks," he said, as if testing out the word.

She didn't want to dwell on her bad dream so she decided to bring him back to the question at hand.

"So, unknown substance, what's that mean then?" she asked.

He sat the napkin down and glanced back at the laptop.

"It means I know why Mycroft's so interested in finding out who you are."

She grinned.

"You mean aside from me breaking into his study?"

His eyes snapped to hers.

"What do mean, breaking into his study?"

That was the main question Mycroft asked, over and over. Why would he keep that from Sherlock?

"Didn't he tell you?"

"He left that detail out." The way he said it made her think that this probably wasn't the first time Mycroft had withheld information from his brother. "How did you manage to get into his study unnoticed?"

"I wish I knew. I just remember this bright light and then I was there. It's the first and last time I've ever seen him jump." She couldn't help grinning at the memory.

"So, that's where your memory begins," he deduced.

"Yep," she replied. "Before the light…nothing."

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	6. Confrontational Detectives

New chapter! Should have another chapter up in tomorrow. :)

* * *

Rose could hear them arguing over the sound of the shower. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she could guess. Sherlock had run an analysis on her trainers, pinpointing all the locations she visited before she found herself in Mycroft's study, which meant he'd want to visit them to try to locate someone who remembered her. She couldn't go with him because that would complicate things. It was much easier and quicker to show a picture than explain why she couldn't remember being there.

John didn't actually live there, something that became apparent after Sherlock mentioned Mrs. Hudson making up the guest room. Guest, meaning not resident. He mentioned Mary last night and when he handed her tea over before Sherlock showed up she noticed the man's wedding ring. He'd already spent the night there and part of the morning so he probably needed to get home. Wives tended to frown on their husbands staying over at a friend's house for days on end, especially a bachelor, which was apart from the state of Sherlock's flat.

She shut off the tap and grabbed a towel from the rack, drying off her hair quickly and then wrapping it around herself.

"I've already put Mary off. I can't hang around your flat for the next however long it takes you to-" John shouted.

Their argument was escalating, from the sound of it and she knew Mrs. Hudson lived downstairs. Someone in her time of life didn't need to listen to two grown men argue like a couple of secondary kids.

"I'll be back this evening, John," Sherlock shot back.

The pair of them were going to drive her round the bend.

"This evening! It's morning now!"

She threw the door open and stepped into the room.

"Shut up, the both of you!" she yelled. Both men turned to her and stared, mouths hanging slightly open. John's eyes widened. Sherlock looked as if his entire mental process was in shut down. She would've laughed if she hadn't been listening to them argue for the past ten minutes. "I don't need a babysitter. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself for a day."

"Um…" Sherlock tried, acting as if he was unable to form a coherent thought let alone an actual word. "You…um…"

"Shhh…" John tried, attempting to nod. "He…"

She rolled her eyes. It wasn't as if she was naked. She had a towel. If she was wearing a bikini there'd be more skin and less covered.

"Now, look, Sherlock. You're a detective, yeah?"

"Um…yes…" his voice sounding a bit hoarse and very quiet.

"You took my case and I'm not going anywhere until you solve it, which means you…" She focused on John.

"Me?" John asked.

"Can go home."

At that moment the door opened and Mrs. Hudson entered.

"Boy's what's all the…" the woman glanced from Rose to Sherlock and then John. "John' you're married!"

"Married," John exclaimed, clamping his hand over his eyes. "Right. I'm married."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson shrieked.

Rose caught the detective's gaze, which was still fixed on her, although he seemed to have regained control of his mental state.

"What?" he asked, in irritation, glancing at Mrs. Hudson for the first time. "You can't argue that I'm married."

"She's in a towel."

"Would you rather she wasn't?"

"Oh, god, Sherlock, just…just stop," John insisted.

"Why? Would you rather she wasn't?"

"I'm married."

"I wasn't suggesting you sleep with her."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson shrieked.

"Isn't it time for your pills, Mrs. Hudson?"

"They're not pills they're supplements," Mrs. Hudson snapped, closing the door on her way out.

"Is she gone?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

John removed his hand only to clamp it back over his eyes.

"I thought you said she was gone."

"I assumed you were referring to Mrs. Hudson."

"So?" Rose asked, still waiting for them to agree.

"Was there a question?" John asked. "I can't recall a question."

Sherlock's gaze had returned to Rose. His eyes were intense, seeming to delve into her very soul, but she stood her ground, refusing to let anyone intimidate her.

"You want us to leave you on your own?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"What I want is for you to figure out who I am so I can go home. The only way you're going to do that is to run down all the locations I've visited," she replied, folding her arms over her chest because the intensity in his eyes made her feel very exposed.

"Why do you assume I have to go on my own?"

She rolled her eyes.

"You'd rather take me with you? Yeah, that'll work." She feigned stopping someone. "Excuse me, have you ever seen this woman before. She can't remember where she's been on account that she's got amnesia. Yes, very sad, no she can't recall how she got it, yes I'm sure her family's worried or would be if they knew, which is why we're trying to figure out…blah, blah, blah twenty minutes later and it's on to the next person. So, yeah, kind of figured taking me would slow you down a bit."

"Bit convenient, don't you think, John?" Sherlock asked, making her wonder what the hell he was talking about.

"I really have no idea what you're talking about, but if this is going to be a while would you mind helping me to my chair?" John asked.

"My brother comes here offering me a case, one he knows I won't be able to turn down. Then you arrive with a clue, a clue that will keep me out of my flat for hours tracking down leads and you knew exactly what I was doing, why I was running an analysis on your trainers, almost as if someone told you."

"Because I couldn't have figured it out myself, yeah?" she snapped, glaring at him, barely resisting the urge to slap him.

"Maybe you did, which would mean you're intelligent. Intelligent enough to fake an accent and a bout of amnesia."

"And exactly why would I do that? What's my motivation?"

"You're working for Mycroft."

"What?"

"Sherlock," John snapped. "I examined her. She's got amnesia, she's not working for your brother."

"He's been trying to control me ever since we were kids. Probably wants to bug my flat, keep an eye on me. After recent events he'd want to monitor me."

"Can you even hear yourself?" Rose asked. "You've got to be the most arrogant arse in existence!"

"Sorry?" Sherlock snapped, taking a step closer.

"The entire universe doesn't revolve around you!" John laughed, drawing a scathing look he couldn't see from Sherlock. "I've never met anyone so pigheaded in my life!"

"I thought you didn't recall meeting anyone."

"You know what, I'm done! You don't want to help me, fine! I'll find someone else," she yelled, moving to shove past him, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Let me go!"

"Sherlock," John snapped, opening his eyes to figure out what his idiot friend was doing this time.

"You're not going anywhere, Rose-" Sherlock began, but stopped as her expression contorted into one of terror, but she wasn't looking at him.

She was seeing something he couldn't see and in the next moment she collapsed. He caught her as she fell.

**-0-**

"You're not going anywhere, Rose-" Sherlock began.

"-Tyler. I can't let you leave," a male voice she recognized finished.

She couldn't place the voice with a name or even a face, but she knew it, same way she knew her name was Rose.

"Don't do this," she insisted, struggling in his grip. "Don't you dare do this to me again!"

The man, she could see him, but she couldn't, it was as if she couldn't quite focus on him. He pulled her across the room. White and there were pillars, desks, she felt like she should know it. The room was important somehow. There was a chamber, a glass chamber with a door, stretching out from the far wall. He drug her over to it as she struggled.

"It's the only way," he replied and she could hear regret and sadness in his voice.

She was sad too and afraid, more afraid than she'd ever been in her whole life.

"No, god no!" she yelled, slapping at him, but he ignored her. "You promised! You promised!"

"What are you doing?" a woman demanded, running into the room to join them.

She turned to the woman, but again, she couldn't quite see her.

"Mum! Mum!" she shouted, struggling.

"Saving your daughter, Jackie," the man snapped. "That all right with you?"

They reached the door to the glass chamber, but she struggled, shoving it closed every time he tried to open it.

"I'm not leaving her! I'm not leaving you! Don't do this! Don't you dare send me away again!"

"Rose, stop it!" he shouted. "Rose! Jackie! A little help."

The woman, Jackie, her mum, raced over to them. She tried to focus, to see the woman, but it was impossible.

"Rose, honey, please, listen to him. He's trying to help."

"I don't want help. I don't want to be saved."

"Open the door, Jackie," the man ordered.

"No! Mum! No, don't do it!"

The man pulled her back as the woman opened the door.

**-0-**

"What the hell did you do?" John demanded.

"I…I didn't…" he trailed off, holding the unconscious form of the woman he accused of working for his brother.

It had been merely a doubt. A nagging doubt in the back of his mind that first made itself known that morning when she worked out, far too quickly, what he was doing with her trainers. She was intelligent, more intelligent than he'd deduced last night that coupled with the fact that she not only listened to him, but seemed interested in what he had to say gave him the doubt. So, he did what he did best. He tried to throw her off her game, shock the truth out of her, corner her, but she hadn't faked that.

The fear in her eyes had been real. Her pulse spiked under his thumb. Then it plummeted before she collapsed. Something happened and he had no idea what that something was, but he brought it on. This was his fault.

"Do you need me to-" John began.

"No," Sherlock said, cradling her and then turned around to carry her through the kitchen.

"What're you doing?" John asked, following.

"The staircase is too narrow and my room's closer."

John could hear concern in his friend's voice and it gave him pause. It wasn't as if Sherlock had never shown concern. His friend was capable of emotions, even if he chose to pretend otherwise, but Sherlock's concern usually meant something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Sherlock laid her down on his bed, tucking her under the covers and then checked her pulse. Steady. Good. John cleared his throat.

"Since I'm the one with the medical degree, do you mind?"

Sherlock stood up and stepped back, leaning against his dresser, waiting while John checked her pulse, her breathing, her eyes, her nails, and then finally stood up.

"She appears to be unconscious."

"You think?" the detective snapped, his eyes never leaving the woman lying in his bed.

John sighed.

"I know you're worried-"

"I'm not worried."

"Yes, you are, now shut up." Sherlock glowered at him. "She seems to have fainted. She'll be out a while."

"How long?" he asked, returning his gaze to Rose.

"Two minutes, five, an hour. I have no idea. I'll phone Mary and let her know-"

"Go," Sherlock said.

"Go?" John asked, catching his gaze.

"I'll stay."

"I thought you had leads to track down?"

"They can wait."

John gazed at him a moment. His friend was in a state, he could see that, feel it, as if it hung in the air between them.

"This isn't your fault. You know that don't you?"

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead he kept his gaze on the unconscious woman. John sighed. The detective wasn't a danger to himself, his sole focus seemed to be on Rose, he wasn't going to leave her and go out on a binge.

"Fine." John stepped toward the door. "I'll give you a ring later. If anything happens call me."

He paused, but Sherlock didn't so much as glance in his direction. After a minute John turned and headed out of the flat

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	7. Emotions

I know this one is short, but next chapter's much longer. :)

* * *

Sherlock leaned against his wardrobe, his eyes trained on the steady rise and fall of the woman's chest. The terror in her eyes replaying itself in his mind. What could've happened to her to put that look in her eyes? She mumbled things in her sleep…or perhaps unconscious state was more accurate. Mostly incoherent phrases, but he'd gotten bits of phrases, a word here and there.

_Don't…do this…again! _Each word etched in panic. Was it a dream or a memory? At first he wasn't sure, but she repeated similar pleas twice and now he was beginning to believe the latter. _You promised! _Someone had done something to her, something they promised they wouldn't do, but what? What had they done to her to put that look in her eyes?

He'd seen fear before, had felt it himself, but what he'd seen in her eyes was beyond even Baskerville. It was more akin to the time he nearly died, no not akin, exactly like that. As if he could see what he felt and it bothered him. He was bothered further by the fact that he felt responsible for reminding her of the terror she felt. That he had a hand in bringing it back. Why should that bother him?

"Oooh, oooh!" Mrs. Hudson called from the front room, knocking on the front door John obviously left open. Sherlock rolled his eyes, choosing to pretend he was out rather than sit through a long explanation with his landlady. "Sherlock." He heard her step into the room. "Sherlock," she called again. "I know you're in because you're door's open."

He heard her cross the room toward the kitchen.

"Are you still in bed?" she called.

He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Look at this mess. Sherlock!" He sighed again, realizing the only way he was going to get Mrs. Hudson to leave was to usher her out the door. "What've you done to my kitchen?"

"Mrs. Hudson," he said, not overly loud, but loud enough to be heard. The sound of his landlady bumping the table, followed by the rattling of three test tubes bouncing from the impact, accompanied her name. "If you keep insisting on dropping by at all hours of the day I would appreciate a less noisy intrusion."

"Honestly, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson admonished, coming into view as she neared the doorway. "In my time of life you really shouldn't be starling me like that." She noted the way he was standing, leaned back against his wardrobe, arms folded over his chest. "Why are you skulking around your bedroom?"

He rolled his eyes, crossing the room toward her.

"Did you have a reason for intruding, Mrs. Hudson, or are you just in-between programs?"

"I've brought your afternoon tea."

"Afternoon?" he asked.

It couldn't be afternoon. John had just left, hadn't he? Sherlock had been so wrapped up in…what? Guilt? Responsibility? Worry? He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands as he took those emotions and locked them into that room with the others. He'd wasted an entire morning.

"Have you been in your room all day?" Mrs. Hudson asked, stepping into the room and that's when her eyes fell on Rose. "Good god," she exclaimed in shocked surprise. "You could warn someone."

"Mrs. Hudson," he exclaimed, crossing the room and grabbing his landlady's shoulders, grinning. "You don't have any plans this afternoon, do you?" He continued without waiting for a reply. "You wouldn't mind staying and keeping an eye on Rose, would you? Of course you wouldn't." He headed out the door and through the kitchen with a tutting Mrs. Hudson following.

"Keep any eye on her?"

"She collapsed earlier, which is why I put her in my bed."

"Collapsed?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, glancing back through the kitchen, worry creasing her brow.

"Yes, but she's fine. John checked her over. She's just…" unconscious, no best not say that, "…resting. If she wakes up give us a ring. Otherwise," he pulled his overcoat on. "I shouldn't be more than three, four hours." He wrapping his scarf around his neck. "Five tops, unless I run into trouble, but I'll definitely be back by morning."

"Morning?"

"I knew you wouldn't mind," he replied with a grin.

He opened the door and stepped out before she could protest, then hurried down the stairs. There were leads he needed to follow. He needed to solve the case, that's what he did. Emotions were best left to people like Mrs. Hudson and John. He couldn't allow trivial things like that to get in the way.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	8. Best Left Forgotten

Sherlock opened the door of 221 and stepped inside. He visited every location and nothing. No one remembered Rose. He spoke to every shopkeeper, news peddlers, passersby, but not one of them recalled seeing her. It had been three months though and that would account for most of them, but he'd been sure someone would have remembered her.

The door to Mrs. Hudson's flat opened as he reached the stairs. She was supposed to be in his flat with Rose.

"Sherlock," his landlady said. "I thought that might be you."

"What're you doing down here?" he asked.

"It's all right. The doctor said she's fine, only resting like you said."

"Doctor? What doctor?" he demanded as one of the emotions…concern…escaped the room, taking hold of him.

"The one your brother called."

"Mycroft?" Concern became worry and was joined by a wisp of fear. "Mycroft was here?"

"Yes, he stopped by to see you, but you were out and I told him about Rose. He was quite worried, phoned the doctor right away. The doctor checked her over, said she was all right. Mycroft insisted on staying though…" Sherlock took the stairs two at a time, "…until you got back."

Her voice faded in the distance as he reached his door and threw it open, hurrying inside to find Mycroft sitting in his chair, reading over the paper while he sipped a cup of tea.

"Ah, Sherlock, you're back," his brother glanced at the watch he wore, "and before midnight, can't be good news for those leads you were tracking."

"What're you doing here?" he demanded, removing his coat and scarf to hang them up.

"When you decided to leave her on her own to go tracking down leads I decided to stop by and check up on her and good thing I did because it seems you failed to inform me of her condition."

"Yes, because you're so worried about her."

"But I am."

"You're only concern stems from your desire for information, namely how she managed to break into your study."

Mycroft's eyes widened.

"How do you know about that?"

"She told me. You see, brother dear," he continued, pouring himself a cup of tea and then taking up John's seat. "People are more willing to share information when they don't loathe the person asking the questions."

Mycroft glared at him.

"What, exactly, did she tell you?"

"Some nonsense about a blinding light and then seeing you jump," he replied, with a grin.

"And did she tell you how she appeared in my study?"

Wait. Mycroft was always careful with his words. He didn't use words like appeared. He would've said, broke in, or found her way in.

"I'm sorry? Appeared? What do you mean appeared?"

His brother eyed him.

"Did she tell you how she got there or not, Sherlock?" Mycroft demanded.

"She doesn't remember. Now, tell me what you mean by appeared?"

Mycroft stood up and walked toward the door.

"Mycroft," he demanded, standing up.

His brother paused with his hand on the door handle.

"I hired you to find out who she is. Don't get attached, Sherlock."

There was something Mycroft wasn't telling him.

"What're you keeping from me?"

His brother turned around and faced him, catching his gaze.

"She's dangerous," Mycroft said.

What? That was completely ludicrous. Everything he'd observed pointed to the opposite conclusion. She was harmless, afraid, alone, with no memory of her past.

"Dangerous? Her?" he asked.

"Yes, Sherlock."

He laughed at his brother's idiotic suggestion.

"Mrs. Hudson's more dangerous than she is."

Mycroft stepped toward him, leaning on his umbrella.

"Mrs. Hudson is a goldfish, Sherlock." His brother motioned toward his room. "The woman lying in your bed is not."

"What do you mean by that? What is she?" he demanded.

"Goodnight, brother dear," Mycroft opened the door and stepped out, but turned back at the last moment. "For the sake of whatever it is we have, Sherlock, heed my warning. Do not get attached."

What the hell did he mean by that? Sherlock eyed him.

"And if I do?"

"Then, dear brother, we shall have a problem."

A moment later Sherlock was left staring at the closed door. She wasn't a goldfish. What the hell did that mean? Well, he knew what that meant. That meant there was something about Rose that was different, unusual, enough so that Mycroft considered her on their level. She was clever, had demonstrated that for him. Genius? No, at least, not in a way that he or Mycroft would consider genius. If not intellect…what? What else would elevate her in Mycroft's eyes? His brother didn't like her, in fact he seemed to, not loathe her, but close.

It wasn't just about the mineral Sherlock analyzed. There was something else going on, something only Mycroft and Rose knew, but she couldn't remember. What the hell could it be?

**-0-**

The man tried to shove Rose into the glass chamber after her mum opened the door, but she grabbed hold of the side of the entrance to stop him. She couldn't let him do this. Couldn't let him make her leave. She wouldn't!

He promised. He swore he wouldn't do that, not again, never again. That she could always decide, but there he was making decisions for her again. She didn't want to be saved. Why the hell couldn't he do what she wanted?

"No! No!" she yelled as the glass cut into her palm, but she ignored the pain, trying to keep him from shoving her inside because once that happened, once he had her trapped there would be no going back.

"Rose, I'm doing this for you, can't you see that?" the man begged.

"I don't want this! I can't! I can't! Please, god, don't make me!" she yelled.

"Rose, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," the man said and with one final shove she stumbled back into the room.

_No! God no! _She raced toward the door, but he closed it and locked it before she could reach it.

"No!" she screamed, banging her fists on the glass that nothing on Earth could break because that's what it was, not of that Earth.

She was crying because she knew this was it. She screamed.

"I'm sorry, Rose. I'm so sorry," the man said, pressing his palms against the glass.

She did the same, pressing hers against his

"Please…just let me out."

"I can't do that. You know I can't."

"Yes, you can, please."

"I can't," his voice so quiet that she didn't have to see him to know he was crying.

"Just…just open it. Just open the door." He turned away, walking over to a lever and she knew, the moment he threw that it would be too late. "Doctor!" she screamed.

_Doctor. _A name, not a word. A name that'd been inside her mind, but hearing herself scream the name tore open some dormant part of her mind and with that name came everything. _Time Lord. _The word whispered through her mind. Doctor. The Doctor. A man in a leather jacket. Deadly store shop dummies, a creature made out of plastic, Cassandra and the end of the world, the Gelth inhabiting dead bodies, A spaceship crashing over London, striking Big Ben, dancing on an invisible space ship with Jack, the Daleks, Bad Wolf, the Doctor regenerating, New Earth, a werewolf, the Cybermen and Pete's World, Canary Wharf and the battle, trapped in a parallel universe, the reality bomb, and reuniting with the Doctor only to have him drop her back on Pete's world with the human Doctor, their friendship that began to turn into something more and then…and then…the cracks that appeared and then vanished just as suddenly, only they left behind a weak point and something, something forgotten inside the void was trying to break in. The weak point cracked, splintered, and the universe began to collapse.

Her mind replayed the events in the room. The man, the Doctor, pulling her toward the chamber…the rift chamber that he built to save them only the universe was collapsing, people, buildings, generators vanishing and there was only power to send one. Her. Because he wouldn't let her die. Her dad was gone by then and Tony, both taken by the collapsing universe as the world began to boil.

She didn't want to go, didn't want to leave, didn't want to lose everyone. If they were going to die then she'd die with them because there was nothing left for her. Nothing. Who was Rose Tyler without her family? Without her Doctor?

"No!" she screamed, trying to reject the memories, but they'd found their way back and this time they wouldn't leave.

"Rose," a man called, but his voice sounded far away. "Rose!"

She felt hands on her shoulders, making her struggle.

"No! Please! No!" she screamed.

"Rose!" She felt someone shake her and realized who was calling her name. Sherlock. Her eyes flew open and she saw him, bending over her. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, her memory returned and with it an overwhelming feeling of loss and panic. She sat up, throwing her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his chest. She clung to him as the tears trailed down her cheeks.

Sherlock held the shaking woman as she sobbed. The fear in her voice when she called out pulled him from his chair and sent him rushing into his room.

"They're…they're dead," she cried. "They're all dead."

"It was just a bad dream," he tried, hoping to calm her down.

"It…it wasn't a dream. Oh, my god! It wasn't a dream."

Wasn't a dream? A memory? Did she remember what happened? _They're all dead. _What did that mean? All? Who was dead? He wanted to find out, but she was shaking, near hysterics. She wasn't in any condition to answer questions. He began stroking the back of her hair, remembering that human contact soothed people who were upset. If John had been there he'd have his friend retrieve one of Mrs. Hudson's evening soothers, as she called them, but John was home, Sherlock's phone was in the living room, and he couldn't leave her until she calmed. He doubted he'd even be able to extract himself from her hold if his flat caught fire.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	9. Not So Friendly Confrontations

Sherlock sat in his chair, impatiently waiting for John to join him. His friend arrived thirty-two minutes ago to check on Rose before heading home for the evening only to find Sherlock awkwardly holding the sobbing woman who hadn't stopped crying long enough to speak a single word since her revelation that everyone was dead and it hadn't been a dream. John took over after that, switching into doctor mode and gently coaxed Rose into releasing the detective, which Sherlock was both grateful and not grateful for, which confused him.

He hovered in the doorway until John ordered him out of the room. After that he retreated to his chair awaiting his friend's presence and any accompanying assessment of her condition. _They're dead. They're all dead. _The words haunted him. He wondered who, who could she be referring to, but he knew. Knew because he heard the emotions behind her words. The same ones he'd felt when he realized Moriarty was going to kill everyone he cared about. _They _were people she cared about. Everyone she cared about, which was why no one came looking for her. There wasn't anyone left to look for her.

It made him wonder where he would be, what he would be if instead of giving him a choice Moriarty had killed them. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade…John. Had someone killed the people she cared about? And how did that have anything to do with her sudden appearance in Mycroft's flat? What did that have to do with his brother's interest in her? There were far too many questions and far too few answers.

John crossed the kitchen and stepped into the room, sitting down in his chair. His friend sighed.

"I've given her something to help her sleep," John explained. "She wouldn't say anything to me. Mind telling me what the hell happened?"

"Her amnesia's gone," Sherlock replied.

John eyed him in shocked confusion.

"Sorry…what?" His friend sat forward. "How?"

"If I were to hazard a guess I'd say my actions earlier triggered a memory, one traumatic enough to break her amnesia resulting in her unconscious state at which point the rest of her memories were restored."

"Wait, but how do you know that? I mean, you're good, but how can you know she's got her memory back? She hasn't said a word to me."

So, she hadn't spoken to John, even after the doctor calmed her down. Odd. Why was that odd? Because she was friendly. Not speaking when she was upset was one thing, but not speaking when she was calm meant whatever happened hadn't occurred that long ago. Then again it could also seem fresh because her memory was just restored.

"She woke screaming they were all dead," Sherlock replied, a bit dismissively as his mind was focused on other things. "I assumed she had a nightmare and tried to explain that at which point she insisted it wasn't a dream."

"They're all dead?" his friend asked, eyeing him. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It's fairly obvious, John , if you think about it," he replied, trying to work out which it was, whether the event happened recently or only seemed recent to her.

"We've talked about the showing off thing, Sherlock."

He rolled his eyes and then sat forward, focusing on John.

"Mycroft has held her for three months, during that time no one has come looking for her. No missing person reports filed, no fliers, nothing."

"Wait. What are you saying?"

Why did John always insist on ignoring the obvious?

"I'm saying no one has come looking because there is no one to look." He could see comprehension dawning in his friend's eyes. "No family. No friends. No one."

"Jesus, Sherlock," John exclaimed, glancing back toward the detective's room before turning his gaze back to Sherlock. "You think they're all dead? Everyone who cared about her?"

Which was exactly why they needed to be careful.

"Which means there isn't anyone to stop Mycroft from taking her," he explained.

"Wait. What?" John asked in confusion.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sighing.

"He said he wanted to know who she is, but was lying. He wanted her memory to return because there's something about her that interests him." He glanced back at the kitchen, recalling his brother's words. "He said she's not a goldfish, which means there something about her that's different."

"Sherlock, what the hell are you talking about?" John demanded, drawing the detective's attention.

"You can't discuss her. Not with Mary, not with anyone."

"Look just…just shut up a minute, would you?" Sherlock glared at him, but John ignored that trying to work through everything his friend revealed. He drew in a breath. "Okay, so, what you're saying is when you grabbed her arm that brought back her memory-"

"Triggered one specific memory traumatic enough to-"

John held up his hand. "Yeah, yeah, okay…the point is her memory returned and you found out everyone she cares about is dead and your first thought is about Mycroft?" John glared at the detective. "Jesus, Sherlock, do you even realize what she must be going through? Do you know what that could do to her? What she might try to do?"

Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

"She's not suicidal."

She was strong. He'd seen that. John was acting as if she was ordinary, which she wasn't otherwise Mycroft wouldn't have been interested in her.

"We don't know that," John insisted. "She needs to be watched, at least for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

His friend couldn't see what he could and he knew John wouldn't let this go until Sherlock agreed. If she needed looking after he could do that. He was already planning on finding out who she was and what happened, why Mycroft was interested in her and now that her memory was restored she had the answers he sought.

"I'll watch her," Sherlock said.

John raised his brow, shooting him a concerned look. Wait. What?

"And you think you're the best candidate for that post?" his friend asked.

What the hell did he mean by that?

"Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock inquired.

"I'm just…saying," John began, choosing not to address that question, "that Mary might be a better option-"

"No," Sherlock dismissed.

The last thing he needed was John dragging Mary into this. Sherlock liked her, she wasn't entirely ordinary, but bringing her into this would complicate matters. She typically took John's side on things and, although she was intelligent she allowed her emotions to control her thinking.

"Why not?" John asked.

"You can't tell Mary, you can't tell anyone. If Mycroft finds out Rose's memory has returned she'll disappear," which was true, but not the reason he had for keeping Mary out of this.

"Mary isn't going to say anything."

"How do I know he hasn't bugged your flat? What if she says something in the cab on the way over? No, it's too risky."

John eyed him.

"What's this really about?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not an idiot, Sherlock. I know you're not that paranoid."

"I told you what this is about," he insisted, refusing to reveal his true motivation.

"Nope, not buying it," John replied shaking his head.

Sherlock sighed.

"There's something about her that interests Mycroft and I refuse to let him get his hands on her."

"You want to know."

"Sorry?"

"That's what it is. You want to know what it is about her that interests Mycroft. You're willing to keep an eye on her so you're the first one to find out."

"If she reveals anything while I'm monitoring her then, yes, I suppose I would be the first one to find out."

"Christ, Sherlock! Is that all you think about? Beating Mycroft, getting to the finish line first!" John growled jumping to his feet. "You know…" he growled flinging his arms around as his face began to take on an angry red tint. "Every time…every time…" He growled again, facing the detective and pulled himself into an angry calm as he drew in a breath. "Every time I think you've made some sort of progress this…this is what happens."

Sherlock raised his brow.

"Progress?"

"Acting like a human being."

"I got her away from Mycroft. I've been watching over her. What else do you expect from me?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe a little humanity for once." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know what?" John stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Never mind. I don't know why I even bother." He crossed the room toward the door. "I'm going home and don't worry I won't tell Mary about Rose's memory." He opened the door. "I'll stop by tomorrow to check on her, until then try not to make her life anymore traumatic."

John stepped out and closed the door, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts. What did it matter what his motivation was? It wasn't as if he planned on interrogating her. A few well placed questions when she woke wouldn't hurt. John was overreacting, as usual.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	10. Goldfish

Rose opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the curtained window directly across from the bed she was lying in. She remembered…everything…everything and for the first time in her life all she wanted to do was forget, but she couldn't. She wanted to cry, to scream, to throw something, but what was the point?

She sat up, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. She had been saved. They were dead, all of them. Her dad, her mum, her little brother, even the Doctor. The human Doctor. The other one…he was even farther away than he had been before. Not that he needed her, but she needed someone. God…she wrapped her arms around her chest…she was alone. Alone in a new parallel universe.

Sherlock and John made that apparent. They didn't exist, at least outside of fiction, or shouldn't, but they did here, which told her two things. She wasn't home and she was further away then she'd ever been before.

She hadn't wanted to be saved, but he hadn't given her a choice and part of her hated him for that. Only, it hadn't just been him. It was her mum too. She knew that. And, although, she didn't want to be there, didn't want to survive after everyone she loved had died, she wasn't going to waste their final act because that wasn't her. So, as much as she wanted to wish everything away, she didn't.

She sighed again. A _creek _of wood near the doorway drew her attention. Sherlock stepped into the room, looking hesitant; as if he wasn't sure he ought to be there.

"Tea?" he asked.

She almost laughed because it reminded her of her mum and how the woman always thought tea would solve everything, but she wasn't ready. So, instead, she managed a slight smile.

"I could use a cuppa," she said, standing up.

The floor felt cold against her bare feet and she liked the feel of it. Cold was good, feeling anything was good because it countered the emptiness that was inside her chest. A feeling she had, as if someone had carved out her heart.

She followed him into the living room and sat down in the red patterned chair. He made them each a cup from the tray on the side table. Then he handed her cup over and sat down. She took a drink, it was warm.

Sherlock observed the woman sitting across from him. She remembered. He could see that. There were differences in her. A lingering sadness that hadn't been there before, which was apparent in the way she held her shoulders. The way she her eyes lit up for a brief moment when he offered tea, but she only managed a slight smile.

He had questions. Many questions, but something held them back and it confused him. Usually he didn't consider other people's emotions, the state they were in, but there was something about her that made him hesitate, made him want to tread carefully. Why? He observed her, as if he might discern the answer, but the answer eluded him.

"You remember," he said after a moment of silence.

"Yeah," she replied, keeping her eyes averted.

He had questions, questions she wasn't sure she was ready to answer, but he helped her and she owed him that much. She sighed and then caught his gaze.

"I was right about my name. It's Rose…Rose Tyler, but I'm afraid," she swallowed, glancing away as overwhelming loss inside of her threatened to take hold, "I'm afraid you won't be able to find my family."

She felt a tear begin to make its way down her cheek. She reached up and wiped it away before absentmindedly tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Sherlock observed her, feeling a strange desire to…what? Take her hand, comfort her in some way. He shoved the feeling aside, locking it in the room with the others. It would do him no good. Answers. That's what he needed.

"That's what you meant when you said they were all dead," he deduced.

Her gaze returned to his and the overwhelming sadness stilled his questions.

"Yes," she replied, a heavy weight in her voice. "They all died. Everyone, except me. I was saved. _He _saved me, even thought I told him not to, but that didn't matter because it doesn't matter what I want, didn't matter that I'd wind up alone." She was losing it. She knew she was losing it, but she couldn't stop. "Completely alone! Not like the first time when I was trapped, but I still had my parents, had both of them! Not like the second time when I had them and the other Doctor! No! This time I'm completely alone and they're dead! All of them! There's no coming back from that!"

The room had blurred through her tears, but in the next moment she felt strong arms wrap around her. She struggled for a moment still angry that she was there. That she survived. After a moment she stopped struggling, clinging to the only other person there because as long as he was there she wasn't alone.

An hour later Sherlock sat in his chair, his eyes staring straight ahead, but his thoughts turned inward. Rose Tyler. He still had no idea who she was, but that wasn't what bothered him. He was bothered by his hesitation. His initial hesitation to question her. Why? Why did he hesitate? He never did that, never considered other people's feeling, but he had considered hers.

When he saw that single tear trail down her cheek, heard the loss in her voice he felt…what? Compassion? Concern? He didn't do that sort of thing. Didn't feel things like that. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There were occasions, tiny slips, but nothing…nothing like he'd felt for her. Why did she make him feel anything? How could she make him feel anything? What was it about her that drew responses from him?

If not for his brother's words he might have played it off, might have fooled himself into believing he was suffering from lack of food or sleep or some other function necessary to sustain the body. In the next moment he found himself in a room, facing his brother.

"Who is she?" Sherlock demanded.

"She's not a goldfish, Sherlock," Mycroft replied, leaning on the desk, which was Mycroft's desk.

They were standing in his brother's office inside one of the rooms in Sherlock's mind palace.

"What does that means?"

Mycroft gave him a condescending smirk.

"You know what it means, dear brother."

"Tell me!"

"Come, Sherlock, you were close enough to her. At least as close as I was when she appeared in my study. What did you see?"

He went back over his conversation with Rose, everything she said, everything he observed. The tear sliding down her cheek and then she caught his gaze, their eyes locked and…Oh!

"Her eyes," he exclaimed.

"Very good, Sherlock. Now, what about them? What's so important?"

"They're different. Intelligent, yes, but you can see it, what she knows, knowledge she shouldn't have, beyond her years beyond…"

"Go on. You can admit it."

"Me," he finished, blinking as his mind returned to his flat.

"You?" Rose asked, gazing at him from the other chair, a cup in her hands as if she'd been about to take a drink. "What about you?"

"Um…" he blinked, sitting up. "Nothing."

He knew. He couldn't let on that he knew. What would she do? Run? Possibly. He couldn't chance that. Not until he found out what she knew. What she didn't want Mycroft to know.

"Where'd you go?" she asked.

"Sorry?" he inquired, not sure what she was referring to since he hadn't actually gone anywhere.

"You were here, but you weren't. Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere. I…um…I was thinking."

"For three hours?" she asked.

"I do that sometimes."

"You should really warn someone. I thought you might've slipped into a coma," she teased.

He cleared his throat and then picked up a cup of tea that Mrs. Hudson must have brought him when he was thinking. Now, he knew exactly why Mycroft wanted her. His brother must have glimpsed it in his study just before she lost her memory. One glimpse in her eyes would be enough.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	11. Surprising Deductions

Sherlock was still sitting in his chair when John entered the flat to check on Rose on his way home from work. The moment his friend stepped in the door Sherlock stood up and slid into his coat, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"Um…hello…where are you going?" John asked.

"I'm off to get chips," the detective replied, not a lie, but not the real reason he wanted to leave.

"I'm not staying long, Sherlock. I only came by to check on her."

"I won't be long."

"You could send Mrs. Hudson. The chip shop's just round the corner."

"Aren't you the one always telling me to think about what other people want?"

"Yes, but you never listened to me before."

"Well, I wanted to do something nice for my guest."

All the gears in John's mind snapped to a halt. Had Sherlock just used the word _nice _to indicate something he _wanted _to do? John opened his mouth, but he couldn't form a coherent thought. Sherlock opened the door, gave him a smile and then stepped out, leaving John staring at the closed door wondering if he'd just crossed over into a parallel universe. One where Sherlock wanted to do nice things for people.

"Hello," Rose said from behind.

He turned around and found her descending the stairs from her room carrying sleep ware. The gears began to turn again as he returned the smile she offered.

"Hello," he replied. "Came by to check on you."

"Was that Sherlock heading out?"

"Yes, he…said he wanted to make a run to the chip shop."

"I hope he brings me back some."

"I'm fairly sure he will."

She smiled, stopping in front of him.

"So…" he glanced over her. She seemed well, not at all like she'd been last night, which wasn't what he expected after Sherlock's deductions. "Everything all right?"

"Bit of a long day, but yeah, everything's fine. Why?"

"I…uh…" he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He didn't want to bring up bad memories, but he wasn't sure how to explain his concern otherwise. "I was worried after…you know."

"Oh," she said, sobering as some of the light dimmed from her eyes, making him wish he hadn't said anything. "Last night you mean."

"Right. I, uh, I'm sorry," he said, feeling like that was so far from enough he probably shouldn't have even said it.

"Thanks. I…wanted to thank you, you know, for helping. I'm fine though, really."

Which she wasn't. He could see that, but he didn't want to pry.

"Great. I'm glad. Really."

"Well…I was going to take a bath. So…"

"Yeah, no, go ahead. I'm going to make a cuppa and wait for Sherlock. He dashed off before we had a chance to talk…" he said, trying to come up with a reason for his presence.

"John," she said, resting her hand on his arm. "I know you want to wait around for Sherlock. I can work it out, yeah? He waited until you got here before he left, you're waiting until he gets back before you leave. I know I was nearly hysterical last night and I know you both know that…" she averted her gaze. "…that I lost my family." She returned her gaze, but her eyes were damp. "I understand. I'd do the same. I'm fine, really, but if it makes you feel better I don't mind the company. Though I'll be in the bath and I do mind company in there."

She laughed, but it seemed a bit forced. He chuckled.

"Yeah, don't worry about that. I'll stay on this side of the door."

She turned then and walked into the bath.

**-0-**

Rose climbed into the bath and lay down. She was trying, really trying, but that emptiness was still there and it felt as if it might never leave. She'd lost people before. Her dad when she was little, but that was a far away feeling. She hadn't understood at the time and as she grew up his memory faded and it was his presence she missed. Things daughters did with their fathers. Sunday dinners and him interrogating the boys she wanted to date, which you don't miss when it's happening, but you do when it's absent.

Then there were the people who died during her travels and she'd felt grief for them, but not the same sort because, although she cared about them, she wasn't close to them. They weren't family. She sighed. Sliding down so her head was under the water.

She lost Jack or thought she had back on the Crucible, but that was short lived because he came back. During that short time she grieved, but she wasn't alone. She still had the Doctor and her mum and Mickey. It wasn't like this. She wasn't alone. Completely alone.

She opened her eyes, staring up through the water. Wondering how…how the universe, any universe could continue. How the clocks could continue counting off the time, the earth turn, people could get up, eat chips, and go about their day as if nothing happened when in fact her entire world had been shattered.

She sat up abruptly, coughing a bit from holding her breath too long. She wiped the wet hair from her eyes as the tears trailed down her cheeks, blending with the bath water. There was one universe that had stopped, the universe that had claimed them. The new beginning the Doctor had given her had become their grave.

**-0-**

Sherlock trudged down the sidewalk, oblivious to the chill in the evening air. His mind far too busy for anything as tedious as the weather. Rose Tyler knew things. She wasn't a genius. Intelligent, yes, but somehow her mind worked on a much higher level. He could see that, could sense it.

There were questions that begged answers. Questions that he'd somehow been stilled from asking. How could she manage that? Why did he hesitate? These were the questions that begged immediate answers. Without the answers he couldn't continue. Couldn't find answers to the other questions.

He couldn't understand it, couldn't fathom how it was even possible for anyone to cause him hesitation like she did. He climbed the stairs to his flat and opened the door. John was sitting in the chair that Sherlock still considered John's chair. The detective sat the chips on the side table and then removed his coat and scarf, hanging them up.

"Huh," John mused, glancing at the bag of chips. Sherlock eyed his friend, wondering what he was referring to. "Must have been a long line."

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked, sitting down across from his friend.

"Forty-five minutes, Sherlock. That's how long you've been gone. Chip shop's just round the corner."

"As you surmised there was a line."

John glanced from Sherlock to the chips and then back. There was something else going on. His friend hadn't wanted to do something nice. That wasn't like him. No there was something else.

"What's really going on?" John asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to," Sherlock insisted, busying himself with a cup of tea.

There was definitely something going on.

"I don't know why you're playing nice," John began, earning an annoyed look from Sherlock, "but so help me if you have some ulterior motive I'll-"

"You'll what, John?" Sherlock asked, sitting back with his cup as he eyed his friend.

"I'll-"

"Yes?" he asked, quirking his brow.

John sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. Somehow he had to get through to his friend. Had to make him understand, only she had something Sherlock wanted and until his friend got it he only saw the end game. The result he was after. He caught Sherlock's gaze and sat forward.

"Look, you have to be careful with her." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm being serious, Sherlock. She's…delicate right now."

Another eye roll.

"She's fine," the detective dismissed.

"No, she's not. She's putting on a good act, but that's all it is, an act. You know about acting, you're very good at that…remember Janine? Rose has lost her whole family, everyone she cared about. I can't imagine what she's going through…no, I can." He caught Sherlock's eye. "When you…died," Sherlock's demeanor changed. Good, maybe this'll get through to the sod. "It took me two years to begin to get over it and only then because I had Mary…"

Sherlock grinned, giving John pause. Why was he smiling?

"Oh. You're right. That's brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Sorry…what?" John asked, trying to work out what Sherlock was talking about.

Sherlock stood up, abruptly and pulled John out of the chair, handing the man's jacket over as he hurried to the door, opening it.

"I'm sure you have things to do. Mary's likely waiting with dinner. Sorry about taking so long, you'll give her my love, won't you?" the detective said, shoving John out the door and closing it before his friend could protest.

He turned around, smiling to himself as he steepled his fingers. John had always been very good at illuminating things. Janine. It was perfect.

**-0-**

After her bath Rose returned to the living room to find Sherlock sitting in his chair. John's was empty which meant he must have gone home. The detective smiled, in that way that made him seem younger and she couldn't help returning his smile as she crossed the room and sat down.

"I brought you some chips, but you were in the bath so I put them in the refrigerator. I could heat them up if you like," he said, standing up.

For the first time she didn't feel much like chips or much of anything for that matter, except company and keeping her mind off thoughts better left alone.

"No, 's all right, but I appreciate the offer," she replied, catching the look he wore that seemed a bit let down. "But I'll take a cuppa, if there's tea."

His smiled returned.

"Of course," he said, turning around to the tea tray and making a cup for her.

A moment later he handed her a cuppa. She smiled.

"Thanks."

He resumed his seat, but his eyes seemed different. Not as if he was dissecting her, which was a look he wore a lot. She would've called it concern, but it was different from the concern she noticed in his eyes earlier. She sipped her tea.

"Did you…have a nice bath then?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Good," he said, picking up the bit of deception in her voice, but choosing to ignore it since his interest didn't lie in the quality of her bath, but polite conversation, tedious, but necessary.

"John went home then," she assumed.

She wasn't entirely sure what to say. Sherlock was acting odd, not like himself. It was just a feeling she had that his behavior was strange. She wanted company, but not this sort.

"Yes. Mary will have dinner waiting."

"Mary's his wife, yeah?"

"Yes."

"I bet she's nice."

"Why do you assume that?"

She shrugged.

"He's nice, stands to reason that his wife would be."

"That's not a very accurate deduction," he replied, his act slipping a bit in the wake of her faulty deduction.

"What'd you mean?"

"You hardly know him, but yet you deduce that the woman he's married to is nice when, in fact, you've never met her."

"I know enough."

"Enough?" he asked, quirking his brow.

She could read people, had always been good at judging friend from foe. Something that saved her life and the Doctor's life on more than one occasion. It's what made her distrust the Gelth, what made her want to help the boy in the gas mask because she could feel how alone he was, but after years traveling with the Doctor her skills had grown, become sharper. There were tells, signs that she could spot, similarities she could draw between herself and others that told her things.

"He's kind."

"Kind?" Sherlock asked and almost scoffed, but stopped himself at the last second, realizing how far his act had dropped without his knowledge.

She caught his gaze.

"He's seen death, a lot of it and he carries himself like a soldier. He's been in war, at least one and not on the sidelines, up front and it changed him, but he hasn't lost his humanity. He had help when he returned. A friend. You. I can see it in his eyes. The way he looks at you. You're more than his friend. You're the man who saved his life, at least that's how he feels and he's probably right. People come out of war changed, different, and without someone they get…lost."

He stared at her and only realized his mouth was slightly agape when the muscle tensed. He deduced by observing, noting details, cat hair, a smudge of lipstick, the scent of deodorant, but what she did was…different. He could read people, the way they held themselves, as she mentioned the way John carried himself, the slight slouching of their shoulders, glances, but, yet, what she had done was different even from that. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

His mind tried to come up with something…anything wrong with her analysis, some way for him to regain control of the situation, which, for the first time in his life, had flipped. Him being the one grappling to understand how she knew.

"That…" he began and at that moment his mind caught up with the events, giving him a chance to recover. "Doesn't answer my question." He smiled as she quirked her brow. "Why do you assume Mary's nice?"

"Because you're his friend," she replied, not condescending, simply stating a fact.

"And?" he asked, knowing there was more to it than that.

"You save him, Sherlock, but he also saved you."

It was true. Of course it was true, but she couldn't know. He refused to believe that she could see that. He wasn't like John, he didn't wear his feelings, they were carefully tucked away.

"What makes you assume that?"

"In order to be saved John had to save someone else. That's how it works." He raised his brow. "You're the one who was running, probably been running your whole life, but the universe put you both on the same path. You gave John what he needed, excitement, adventure, that bit of extraordinary he needed to be saved."

"And what, exactly, did he give me?"

"Humanity."

"Sorry?"

"That's what you needed humanity to offset the darkness because that's what you were running from."

He knew what darkness she was referring to. The addict. That part of him that received the same high from solving a case that it received from drug use. She could see that. How could she see that? And if she did how could she sit here so calmly in his presence, as if she were chatting with anybody else? It didn't make sense. Didn't calculate.

"And that doesn't frighten you?"

She laughed, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"You think you're the first mad genius I've met with a bit of darkness running through his heart?" Before he could question her further she stood up. "It's late and I'm tired. Try to get some sleep, yeah? Now that your bed's free."

He didn't answer. Instead he watched her ascend the stairs to her room. If he had any doubts about her status before they were entirely banished by that display. She wasn't a goldfish. Nor was she like him or Mycroft. She was entirely…different. She was very good and if he had any chance of pulling off his plan he'd have to be better.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	12. Sleepwalking

Sherlock lay on the sofa, hands steepled over his chest, eyes closed, thoughts turned inward as he worked out his plan. He needed information to complete the job, but he had to be very careful acquiring that information since it had to come directly from the source. Acquiring information about Janine was easy. He'd already made deductions, then there was her friendship with Mary, who had been more than willing to share her knowledge, and then the few trips he made to the woman's flat with well executed excuses.

Rose, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. He could only manage a few deductions, having nothing from her past except the trainers she wore. There were no friends, family, acquaintances he could retrieve information from and she lived in his flat. His eyes snapped open. Of course! She lived in his flat. He could go through her things when she was occupied. Could've done that when she bathed, but that was before John gave him the idea. Everything she owned was new, but she'd picked the items out. He could gain more insight into her personality, which would help him learn what she liked.

The sound of the front door opening drew his attention. He sat up in time to watch Rose step out. He glanced at the clock. 2:37 a.m. What the hell was she doing? He got up and walked to the door, which was still open. He stepped out. She was at the end of the stairs, walking toward the door.

"Rose," he called, wondering what she could be doing, where she thought she was going in the middle of the night, but she didn't answer. Didn't even turn to look at him.

She opened the door and he hurried down the stairs after her. She stepped out, leaving the door open. By the time he reached it she was halfway to the street.

"Rose," he called again and again didn't receive a response and that's when it clicked.

That's when he deduced what was happening. The sound of a car drew his attention. A cab was barreling down the road. He had just a moment to take in her position, the approach of the cab, how close it was, how close she was to the road. He could see the impending collision. Panic gripped his chest, but he shoved it aside as he raced over to her and grabbed her hand, pulling her back just as the cab passed. She screamed, pulling away from him, but he grabbed her shoulders.

"Let me go!" she screamed.

"Rose, it's me," he yelled, giving her a firm shake.

Her eyes focused and she blinked, gazing at him.

"Sh-Sherlock?" she asked, confused.

A sigh of relief escaped him as he pulled her close without realizing his actions.

"You're safe," he said and then realized what he said, what he was doing.

It was good though. This was good. It would work into his plan, even if he hadn't planned it and couldn't work out why he'd done it. Saving her was one thing, but this was something else. He shoved those thoughts aside. He had control, knew what he was doing.

"What happened?" she inquired, thoroughly confused. "Why're we outside?"

"You were sleepwalking," he explained pulling back and gazing at her.

"What?" She seemed to want to manage a smile, as if she thought he was joking, but glanced around, the reality of the situation setting in. "But…but I don't do that. I mean, I've never done that before. Can that happen?" she asked, gazing at him as if he held the answer, which he did. Had studied sleepwalking for a case and hadn't deleted the information yet. "Can someone just start sleepwalking?"

"Yes. It can be stress induced." He felt her shivering. "But we can discuss that inside."

He released her and allowed her to walk ahead of him, entering the building after and then following her back into his flat. She sat down on the sofa. He glanced around the room, his eyes falling on a blanket that Mrs. Hudson had laundered, but left sitting on the back of John's chair when he hurried her out of the flat yesterday. He picked it up and crossed the room to Rose, wrapping it around her shoulders and then sat on the sofa next to her. Not wanting to lose the position he'd gained.

"Thanks," she said.

"Are you all right?" he asked, pulling out a concerned look that she didn't notice because she was paying attention to her hands.

"I…" she sighed. "I don't know. It's weird. Not having control."

"Waking up somewhere else you mean?" he inquired, taking her hand in an attempt to focus her attention on him, but instead of looking at him she covered his hand with her other and continued looking at them.

"No, that doesn't bother me so much," she said, finally looking up and catching his gaze. "I'm used to that, yeah?" Wait. What? Was she referring to losing her memory and waking up in whatever room Mycroft kept her in? No, that was one instance. One instance didn't make a person used to it happening again. "But all those times it was someone or something else. This time it was me…only it wasn't. What if it happens again?" she asked, her eyes filling with fear. "I made it outside, what if I'm down the road or the next block over, or-"

His hand involuntarily squeezed hers.

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen."

"How?"

He hadn't expected the sleepwalking. That was _dangerous, _he shoved that word aside and chose…unexpected, which was much more to his liking and suited the situation. Unexpected, but useful.

"For tonight I'll stay with you." She caught his gaze and quirked her brow in a way that told him she wasn't entirely comfortable with that idea, but he could see that she also didn't want to be alone after what happened. So, he forged ahead. "To make sure nothing happens. I'll stay awake and if you start showing signs of sleepwalking I can make sure you don't wonder too far." He glanced toward the stairs to emphasize his next words. "I'm surprised you managed to make it down the stairs without falling, what with the state you were in."

She glanced at the stairs, her brow creasing in worry. He pulled back the grin that wanted to surface, knowing she'd agree.

**-0-**

John climbed the stairs to Sherlock's flat. It was early, nearly eight in the morning and he knew Sherlock would, most likely, still be in bed, but he wanted to stop by on his way to the office to check on Rose. He'd been worried all night about Sherlock's strange behavior. He realized something he said must have given his friend an idea and with Sherlock's motivations any idea he had at this point was bound to be no good.

He opened the door and stepped inside and glanced around. The flat was quiet. She should be up, at least, he thought she'd be. He glanced up the stairs. Door closed. He passed through the room and into the kitchen, but before he stepped out of the living room Sherlock's phone chimed, drawing his attention to the side table near the man's chair. John walked over to the table and picked up his friend's phone. It was a text from Mycroft.

_Do we have a problem?_

_-MH_

What the hell did that mean?

There was an accompanying image. John opened the image. It was a picture of the front of 221, must have been taken last night. There were two people outside the building and he recognized both of them. Sherlock with his arms around Rose. What the hell was going on?

"Sherlock," he called, walking toward his friend's room, intent on some form of explanation as he carried the phone in his hand.

**-0-**

"Sherlock," John's voice carried up the stairs and through the closed door.

The detective's eyes snapped open. He felt movement, but not himself. Warm breath caressed his neck. His eyes widened, shifting wildly as he tried to work out exactly where he was and exactly what happened to put him there. His mind caught up with the situation, filling him in on the details, reminding him of his ploy and he realized that the person who's arm was wrapped around his side and draped over his back, legs intertwined with his own was Rose. It was her distracting breath he felt. Only, he couldn't work out how he'd come to be in the position he was in.

His ploy was merely to remain close to her. To get her to trust him, to open up to him. He wasn't going to go as far as he did with Janine…unless he absolutely had to, because he knew how his friend felt and, although, John would forgive him, as he always did, he didn't think his friend's forgiveness would be as forthcoming as it had been with Janine because Rose wasn't trying to gain something from him as the other woman had been.

"Sherlock," John called again, a bit…irritated? Yes, that was it.

His mind jolted, realizing what conclusions his friend would draw if John wondered up the stairs and opened her bedroom door. He also couldn't abruptly pull away, waking her like that might damage any progress he made.

He closed his eyes analyzing exactly how they were laying, exactly where their skin touched. A feeling began to creep over him, something foreign, something that had no business being there in the first place. He shoved the feeling aside, finishing his analysis and going over every available way in which he could extract himself from the situation. He settled on the path that was most likely to keep Rose form waking.

**-0-**

John stood in the living room, gazing around. Sherlock wasn't in his room, but he couldn't have left, at least not on his own, not without his phone. His friend never went anywhere without his phone. Wait. He glanced at the picture. No, John had been there when Mycroft sent the picture, which meant the elder Holmes hadn't taken Sherlock.

His eyes were still on the picture when an idea formed. _No. _He wouldn't do that…would he? John glanced at the closed door of Rose's bedroom. _No. _He shook his head, trying to dispel the idea, but it remained. _Janine. _Then it clicked. John mentioned her last night and that's when Sherlock's entire demeanor changed. His brows drew together as he crossed the room toward the stairs. At that moment the door to her room opened and Sherlock stepped out dressed in sleep ware. His friend closed the door and descended the stairs, catching sight of John on the way down. Shooting him a smile.

"Morning," the detective greeted, walking over to the tea and biscuits Mrs. Hudson brought up earlier.

John watched his friend, closely. Sherlock seemed to be purposely avoiding eye contact, something that only happened when his friend was trying to keep things from him. He noted Sherlock's disheveled hair, his friend shifted and that's when he saw it. A smudge of lipstick on his friend's neck. That was all it took.

"Did you just…were you just…" John tried, barely able to keep himself from striking his friend.

"You're going to have to actually finish the question before I can answer you," Sherlock replied, taking a drink of his tea.

"Did you sleep with her?" he asked, trying to keep his voice low, but not making a very good job of it in his anger.

"No," Sherlock dismissed as if that was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard. "Well, technically, but-"

"You did! Jesus, Sherlock, I can't believe you."

"Sorry?"

"You've done some things, but this…I can't believe you'd take advantage of-"

He stopped at the sound of the upstairs door opening. Rose stepped out, also dressed in sleep ware.

"Good morning," Sherlock greeted, smiling up the stairs.

"Morning," Rose replied, returning his smile as she descended.

"Tea?"

"Tea sounds brilliant."

She finished her descent and crossed the room toward them.

"Biscuits?" Sherlock offered, still smiling as he offered to put some on her saucer.

"Of course," she replied, also still smiling as she drew up next to him.

John watched the display, growing angrier by the second. Sherlock was acting the doting boyfriend, but that's all it was, an act. He'd seen it before. Knowing Rose's condition, the fact that she'd lost everyone she cared about, John couldn't stomach watching his friend take advantage of her.

"Did you tell John about last night?" she asked.

"Hadn't gotten round to that yet."

Wait. What? John glanced from her to Sherlock and back. Why would she want Sherlock to tell him?

"It was sweet of you to stay. To be honest I felt weird about it at first, but I think that's just because we've only known each other a couple days and it's been so long since I've-"

"Just…just stop. Please. Could you just stop," John interrupting, having heard far more than he wanted to and he knew if he didn't stop her he'd lose all control over whether or not he was going to punch Sherlock. He eyed his friend. "You! Kitchen! Now," John shouted, clamping his hand over Sherlock's wrist and dragging him across the room.

"John! What're you doing?" Rose insisted, trying to reason with him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sherlock insisted.

"You know exactly what I'm doing. It has to do with you being an arrogant, pompous, inconsiderate dickhead!" John shouted, his face flushed with anger.

"For god's sake, John, we didn't have sex!" Sherlock exclaimed, after trying, in vain, to wrench himself from his friend's grasp.

John stopped. Rose stopped. Complete silence filled the flat followed by the sound of a bag being dropped. Every eye in the room turned to the open doorway. A startled Mrs. Hudson and a completely shocked Greg Lestrade looked back.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	13. Erupting Flats

"What?" Sherlock asked, having no idea why everyone was looking at him in shock.

That was enough to break the silence and in the next moment the entire flat erupted. "Sherlock!" "You slept in her room!" "There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for that." "She's a nice girl!" "You took advantage of her!" "Sherlock, how could you?" "Shut up, Mrs. Hudson!"

An ear piercing whistle quieted the room. All eyes turned to Rose, having been the one who whistled.

"Care to hear what I have to say?" she asked. Instead of waiting for a reply she continued, "Yes, he slept in my room last night, but that's all we did…sleep. He was worried because I was sleepwalking. Now that that's settled in future what goes on in my room is really no one else's concern."

With that she walked past Sherlock and John, heading into the kitchen to make a cuppa.

"Sleepwalking?" John asked, finally releasing Sherlock's wrist.

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "She would've been struck by a car had I not been lying on the sofa."

"You were worried?"

John wasn't really buying that.

"Concerned," the detective replied and then abruptly turned to Lestrade. "I assume you came here for a reason?"

"Yes. Right," the inspector said, coming out of the daze the scene had caused. "We've got a jewel thief-"

"Boring," he dismissed, flopping down in his chair.

"I could really use your-" Lestrade said, stepping into the room.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He'd heard of the case. Typical thief. Typical entry point. They could solve it on their own if they weren't so incompetent.

"Why do you insist on wasting my time-" he began.

"Rude," Rose snapped, cutting him off as she stepped back into the room with a cuppa.

She eyed him. His was being an arrogant sod. If someone asked for help, you helped, that's what she believed and she wasn't about to let him get away with that.

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked.

"He came all the way over here to ask for your help and because his problem's not exciting enough you dismiss him?" she asked.

"Yes. Right," the detective said, as if she agreeing with him, which she wasn't. She sat down her cup and pulled him out of the chair. "What're you doing?"

She grabbed his coat and scarf, shoving them into his hands.

"Suck it up, Sherlock Holmes," she snapped.

"Excuse me?"

"The world doesn't revolve around you, believe it or not. If someone asks for help, you help. I don't have friends who pick and chose who they help and who they don't help."

He shoved his irritation aside. Lestrade's case was boring, but if solving it would put him one step closer to earning her trust and therefore learning her secrets. It was worth it. He smiled.

"You're right," he said.

"Sorry…what?" John exclaimed, glancing from Rose to Sherlock.

How had she…why would he…? Sherlock had a reason. He must have a reason. He didn't take cases he deemed boring.

"You'll stay with her, of course," the detective said, putting on his coat.

"Actually I-"

"Wonderful," Sherlock replied as he turned and followed Lestrade out the door.

"You don't have to stay," Rose said.

John turned around and found her sitting in Sherlock's chair, drinking her tea.

"How did you do that?" he asked, walking over to sit in his chair.

"I know he's as interested in finding out about my past as Mycroft is, but for a different reasons. Sherlock wants to know because he's curious."

"Then why don't you tell him?"

She sighed and her eyes seemed to dim a bit, making him sorry he asked.

"Mainly because I can't talk about it yet. It's…still too hard." She took another drink of her tea and then seemed to consider the carpet a moment. "He's not a bad sort. Sherlock." She glanced at him. "He…reminds me of someone I knew. How he was when I first met him. Not wanting to let his feelings get in the way of his thinking. Problem is we're human and humans are emotional by nature."

"I think Sherlock would argue that," John replied with a smile.

She grinned.

"That's the trouble with idiot geniuses, yeah? Always think they're right."

She laughed and he joined her.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	14. Mary's Cousin

Sherlock rode to the crime scene in Lestrade's car. Not something he typically did, but it would be quicker and he planned on solving this case as soon as possible, take a cab back to the flat, fill Rose in on the details and therefore be one step closer to earning her trust.

"So…" Lestrade said, interrupting his thoughts. "New flatmate then?"

He rolled his eyes. It was completely obvious that Lestrade was fishing for information about Rose and about Sherlock's relationship with her, which there wasn't one.

"Yes," he replied shortly.

"A woman."

Another eye roll.

"Yes."

The last thing he wanted to do was discuss details about Rose. Details that might get back to…Oh! He glanced at Lestrade, smiling, which seemed to startle the inspector, but he ignored that because a plan had formed. A plan that would make it very difficult for Mycroft to make her disappear.

"She's Mary's cousin…distant cousin," Sherlock explained.

"John's Mary?" Lestrade asked, raising his brow.

It was perfect. Mary was an orphan, well, pretending to be an orphan, but that was another story. None of her family had come to the wedding.

"Yes, they'd never actually met, but Rose contacted her after losing her family, seeing as how Mary's the only living family she has left."

This would do two things. Give Rose family and make sure Lestrade had an investment in the woman's well being, seeing as how he and John got on well.

"Losing her family? What happened?"

"Car accident."

"When?"

"Three months ago. Very tragic."

"But…if she's Mary's cousin then why's she staying with you? Especially, someone in her condition."

Why did everyone insist that she was in a _delicate condition? _Yes, she'd been traumatized, but she wasn't as ordinary as everyone else. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"With Mary expecting everyone felt it was best."

He pulled out his phone and began texting John. That way his friend could get hold of Mary and by the time he solved the case everything would be taken care of. He wasn't sure why he didn't think of it before…well, he did. He'd been focused on finding answers, something he was still focused on, but that made him overlook the real problem. Mycroft. Sooner or later his brother would be coming for her and he needed to keep that from happening.

* * *

"Thanks," John said as Rose handed him a cuppa. "You didn't have to go to the trouble. I could've made my own tea."

"I don't mind," she replied with a smile as she sat down in Sherlock's chair. "I used to make it all the time for my…friend."

She sighed. It was hard talking about _him. _All of them actually, but she knew she'd have to eventually.

"So," John said, wanting to change the subject because he could see how hard remembering was for her. Though she'd have to talk about it eventually. He was fairly sure her sleepwalking had to do with the fact that she hadn't dealt with it, hadn't grieved since she recovered her memories. "We could watch some telly if you-"

He was cut off by the sound of his phone chiming. He pulled his mobile out and read the text.

_Tonight. 7 pm. Bring Mary._

"What is it?" Rose asked, noting the confused look on John's face.

"It's from Sherlock. I think he wants me to bring Mary round tonight at seven," he said, stuffing his phone back in his pocket.

"Why?"

"I've no idea."

Sherlock made it perfectly clear last night that Mary shouldn't be involved, probably because she could see through him. What changed Sherlock's mind?

* * *

It was nearly seven-forty. Mary had been there for nearly forty minutes, half of which was spent on trivial small talk and greetings between her and Rose. He'd waited, impatiently, finally revealing his plan after everyone sat down, Mary next to Rose on the sofa, the two seeming to have hit it off.

"Okay, so if I'm understanding all this," Mary said, using her hands for emphasis, "Your intention is to establish relationships for Rose. Friends, family, people who would miss her when Mycroft tries to take her."

"Precisely," Sherlock said. "Since you have no family to speak of the appearance of a distant cousin shouldn't be suspicious."

"It'll be enough to complicate matters, but, Sherlock, you know as well as I do that if Mycroft wants something that won't be enough to stop him."

Mary's eyes travel over to Rose and Sherlock knew she was wondering what it was that the girl knew, which was what he wanted to know, but he wanted to be the one to find out first. He had to waylay her train of thought before she started asking questions. This was one of the reasons he hadn't wanted Mary to know that Rose's memory was restored, but it was the only way to keep the girl safe.

"Complicating matters is just the beginning," Sherlock said, drawing Mary's gaze back to him.

"I really do appreciate you doing this for me," Rose replied, taking the woman's hand.

Mary smiled.

"I've been in…a similar situation," the woman said.

"I know." Mary's smile slipped as she glanced at Sherlock. "He didn't tell me. I can see it." Mary raised her brow. "That bit of darkness, same as John's. Things you've had to do, things that changed you, but you found your way back."

"You can see that?"

"I've always been good at telling if someone's dangerous or not. It's saved my life quite a few times. You…you could be, but only if you were threatened or if someone you cared about were threatened. Might've been different before, but not anymore. On account of him," Rose indicated John. "Just like those two," she glanced from John to Sherlock, "you two saved each other."

"And, exactly, where did you train?"

Rose laughed, making Mary raise her brow.

"Like I said, I've always been able to tell the difference, but I had this friend I used to travel with, helping people, and I got better at it because I had to. I guess you could say I was trained, but it was more life training. In the field training."

This was far more information than Sherlock wanted aired in John and Mary's presence so he cleared his throat to focus the room's attention back on him.

"As it's getting late I think it would be best to let Rose get some sleep," he said.

"Late?" John inquired glancing at his watch. "It's only eight-twelve."

"Yes," Sherlock dismissing standing up and reaching for John and Mary's coats. "But as you should know individuals who suffer from sleepwalking should begin preparing for bed early."

"Right," his friend said, giving him a suspicious glance, but unable to argue with the facts, which were true. "I'll stop by on my way to work in the morning."

"And I'll accompany you, seeing as she is my cousin," Mary replied.

Then they stepped out the door. Sherlock turned around and Rose quirked her brow at him, grinning.

"If you were anymore obvious, the word _obvious _would be stamped on your forehead," she said.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"I bet you cut in line in secondary too." He gave her a confused look, which made her laugh again. "You rushed them out because you want to be the first to know." She sighed, glancing at her hands and the weight of it drew him to the sofa. He sat down next to her. "Thing is I don't know if I can talk about all of it." She caught his gaze and the sheer magnitude of emotions hit him. He laid his hand over hers, but in the next moment she clasped his hand in hers and a strange feeling crept over him. It was as if her hand was always meant to be there. He shook that feeling off. "I'll tell you what I can."

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	15. The Truth

"You probably want to know how I appeared in Mycroft's office, which is what he wants to know. He has suspicions. I could tell from the questions he asked me, but he doesn't know for sure." Rose held his hand tighter as she spoke and Sherlock could feel the tension running through her body. "But in order for you to understand that you need to know the truth about who I am."

Wait. What? She told him her name was Rose Tyler. Had she lied about that?

"Who are you?" he asked.

She caught his gaze.

"My name is Rose Tyler and I'm from another universe."

"Sorry…what?"

His entire mental process paused. It was…strange. A feeling he'd never had before. Not fear. Not like the Hound. Her words simply didn't compute.

"I'm from a parallel universe."

He blinked. His mind beginning to turn. Parallel universe? There were theories, but that's all they were…theories. His mind tried to refute her revelation. It simply wasn't possible, but he couldn't deny that from the moment he met her she hadn't lied to him. So, she believed this to be the truth. Her truth.

She had amnesia when she arrived, but he hadn't detected a mental disorder. She wasn't delusional. But it wasn't possible. Parallel universes existed in fiction, movies, and plays. There was no proof. No definitive proof. And that's where he existed. In a world of fact.

His brother's words floated back to him. _She's not a goldfish. _Was this what Mycroft meant? No, parallel universes would be too fanciful for Mycroft. His brother also lived in a world of truth, of facts. Unless…unless he had some sort of proof.

"How did you get into his study?" Sherlock asked.

She sighed again and he could feel that weight she carried. Stronger. It was almost as if the feeling passed from her to him through the connection of their hands touching.

"There were these cracks appearing in my universe, well, the one I lived in. They were rips in the fabric of time, tears in the skin of the universe. People started vanishing and then it stopped. The cracks disappeared. Only, like any wound, they left a scar and something tried to push its way through. The scar shattered, spider-webbing cracks throughout my universe and it started to collapse." A tear trailed down her cheek, but she seemed too lost in the memory to notice. He didn't want to believe her. What she spoke of was beyond fantastic. It was impossible and yet her description made sense. And there was a feeling, an overwhelming feeling that this was the truth. Not just her truth. "The earth began to boil as the universe collapsed. The Doc…" Another tear and she swallowed, trying to maintain control, but her voice wavered. And he felt his hand tighten in hers, reassuring her that he was there. "My friend built this machine. The rift chamber. There's a sort of natural flaw in every universe, it's like a crack, but one that's meant to be there. We call it the rift. He built the chamber to carry survivors from one universe to another using the rift. Only, the universe was collapsing and there was only enough power to send one person."

Rose was trying to maintain control. She really was, but the more she talked about it the more real it became and her control slipped. The tears slid down her cheeks as if they'd never stop. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

He'd wanted to find the truth, an unbelievable truth. The reason Mycroft wanted her. She had knowledge, dangerous knowledge and that's what his brother was after.


	16. Contemplations

John sat down in front of the telly with Mary to spend some time before bed. He'd actually been surprised by Sherlock's idea. Not that his friend wasn't brilliant, but Sherlock usually didn't consider things like that, family and friends.

"Brilliant plan of Sherlock's. At least we'll have someone from your side for Christmas dinner," he teased.

Mary laughed.

"I like her and she'll be good for him," she replied.

"Sorry…what?" John asked, taken back

"You must have noticed the way Sherlock was looking at her when her attention was elsewhere."

"He does that."

"Not like that," she said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze for emphasis while sporting a knowing grin. "And she kept glancing at him."

"No, but…are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm quite sure."

She cuddled up next to him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. He grinned.

"Good."

"I think so too."

He reached for the remote and turned the telly on.

* * *

Sherlock's phone chimed, interrupting his sleep. He opened his eyes and realized he was still on the couch, lying down, propped up on the arm. Rose was lying on her side, curled up next to him with her head resting on his chest, his arm around her.

He pulled his mobile out of his trouser pocket, careful not to wake her. He read the text.

_It's done._

_-Blocked._

He reached behind his head and sat his phone on the side table. The next step in his plan to keep her out of Mycroft's reach was in place. She needed friends and relations, but she also needed a past, a history and the work needed to be meticulous. Not just words on a computer, but hardcopies, perfect forgeries. Old paper, old ink, things that could stand up to scrutiny.

She shifted, brining his mind back to the present. Back to her. Last night she had finally grieved, finally let loose all those pent up emotions and he had stayed. Stayed because he didn't want her to be alone, though he'd never admit that openly, but they were alone and she was asleep and it was safe to think such things. Safe to contemplate this woman who shouldn't exist, but did. Clever, strong, and if he allowed himself to see it, which he did now, beautiful.

He moved her hair back from her sleeping face and gazed at her. Her entire countenance one of peace. She had lost everything and yet she still had fight in her. When her memories returned he expected her to run or, at least, ask him to help her run. She was clever enough to know there ways to smuggle her out of Baker Street, but she stayed.

She felt a connection with him and John. The only people she'd connected with since she'd wound up alone in a strange place. She felt safe with them and he would make sure she stayed that way. He knew there might come a time when letting her go would be the safest thing for her and when that time came that's what he would do, but for now she was there and for now that was enough.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	17. Attachments

Another short chapter...I know, but the next few chapters are a lot longer. :)

* * *

Sherlock sat across from Mycroft who decided to drop by, unannounced of course, to check on his progress. At least, that was his brother's excuse. He knew Mycroft heard about the steps he'd taken to provide Rose with a past, a family, friends.

"How are things?" Mycroft asked, setting the tea down Mrs. Hudson provided.

"Drop the charade, Mycroft. I know why you're here," Sherlock snapped, his tea still on the side table, having not touched it since his landlady set it there.

"Yes, as you should, little brother."

Patronizing him was a sure sign that the steps he implemented had complicated matters. Sherlock smiled.

"Is it the diet again, dear brother, or is something else eating at you?"

Mycroft glared. Sherlock finally picked up his tea, pleased that he'd gotten under his brother's skin.

"You may have complicated matters, Sherlock, but you haven't made them impossible."

"Oh?" he asked, raising his brow.

What the hell did Mycroft mean by that? His brother sat forward, eyeing him.

"I will have my answers, brother dear, one way or the other."

He knew Mycroft wasn't going to give up easily, but he was determined to keep his brother from taking her. What she knew was dangerous and he didn't want Mycroft getting his hands on that knowledge, but it was more than that. She was important, though he'd never openly admit that.

"You will leave her alone," he insisted.

Mycroft raised his brow.

"Oh, will I?" his brother asked.

Sherlock sat his tea down, eyeing his brother as he sat up. Mycroft could be dangerous, but he could be just as dangerous. His brother tended to forget that fact.

"Yes. You will."

Mycroft merely smiled.

"I warned you not to get attached, Sherlock."

He glared, opening his mouth to shoot off a scathing reply when Rose stepped into the room from the kitchen, having finished the shower she was taking. She glanced between them. His brother eyed her with a slight smile.

"Ah, Ms. Tyler, just the woman I wanted to see."

"Mycroft," she said, a bit of distain in her voice. Then she glanced at the tea tray. "Are we having tea then?"

She grinned, crossing the room. His brother took a step back, reminding Sherlock of the story she told him about throwing her tea at Mycroft. He grinned.

"Yes," he replied, catching her gaze. "I'm sure Mycroft would enjoy having tea with you again."

At that moment the door opened and Mrs. Hudson walked in with Lestrade. The inspector glanced from Mycroft to Rose and finally Sherlock.

"Sorry to interrupt-" Lestrade began.

The detective stood.

"You're not interrupting. My dear brother was just on his way out. Weren't you, Mycroft?" he asked, eyeing his brother.

Mycroft glowered at him, but his brother knew better than to air anything in front of the inspector.

"This isn't over," Mycroft said, grabbing his cane as he crossed the room.

"Yes, it is," he replied before turning his attention to Lestrade. "Something I can do for you?"

"There's been a murder. Double homicide. Husband and wife," the inspector explained.

"But there's something different?" he deduced, taking in the way Lestrade was standing and the worried look in the man's eyes.

"The killer left a message."

A message? His chat with Mycroft vanished to the back of his mind, this new case taking priority. A murderer with a message? That sounded promising. He could use something to take his mind off recent events.

"What message?" he asked.

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked.

It was obvious the inspector wanted him to see the message, intriguing him further. He couldn't very well leave Rose on her own though. Mycroft would notice his departure and his brother might take that opportunity to pick her up.

"Of course," he replied, grabbing his coat and then glanced at Rose. "Coming?"

Wait. Rose glanced at Sherlock. He wanted her to come with him? On a case? Mycroft. He must be afraid his brother would return. Well, whatever his reason she couldn't pass up accompanying Sherlock Holmes on a case.

"You want me to come?" she asked, but she was already crossing the room toward the door to grab her own coat.

He grinned.

"Can't leave you on your own, can I?"

"I suppose not," she replied, returning his grin.

"Um…" Lestrade hesitated. "Are you sure?" Sherlock eyed him, raising his brow. "It's a double homicide."

"And?" Sherlock asked.

"Its fine, inspector…" she trailed off.

"Lestrade. Greg Lestrade," he introduced, offering his hand.

She shook it with a grin.

"It's fine. Really."

"Um, okay then."

Lestrade turned and hurried down the stairs with Rose and Sherlock following.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	18. Countdown Pt1

The husband's body was lying on the floor just beyond the door. Single bullet to the head. He was the first victim. The killer knocked and he opened the door, but what would make him open the door on a stranger? Sherlock noticed the scattered takeout cartons. Of course. A ruse, delivering takeout.

"We've been to the restaurant," Lestrade said, seeming to notice the detective's interest in the cartons. "They don't have a record of the victim's order."

"The killer rerouted the call. Clever," Sherlock replied.

"Then they were targets," Rose said. He glanced at her, raising his brow. "'S too much work to be random."

He smiled. Clever. She returned his smile. Then he continued into the flat. There was a shattered plate on the living room floor. The wife's body a few paces away. Five shots. Left leg, right leg, three to the chest. It was the wife. All about the wife. She was the intended target of killer's aggression. The husband was killed quickly. She suffered.

Rose watched him bend down, pulling out his magnifying glass, and begin inspecting the body. He seemed very clinical about the whole thing. Very detached, but she knew that's what he had to do. Much like she had to do when she was working a case for Torchwood or back when she was traveling with the Doctor. It didn't do to let emotions get in the way. It made thinking harder, working things out harder.

He stood up after a few minutes, pocketing his magnifying glass. Rose hadn't uttered a single word and it made him wonder if he'd been wrong about her. Perhaps she couldn't handle scenes like this. He glanced at her. She was watching him, no hint of despair in her eyes. He grinned and she returned his grin.

"So?" she asked.

He indicated the woman's body.

"Gunshot to the left leg, followed by the right, then three in the chest, all over the span of thirty minutes," he explained.

"So, she was the target."

"Precisely." He turned his attention on the back wall. The message he noticed upon entering. The number nine spray painted on the wall. "And that's the message."

"This is the second double homicide in two days. The first had a ten on the wall," Lestrade said.

"A serial killer," Sherlock replied.

"Looks that way."

"He's going to strike eight more times," Rose supplied.

"Unless I catch him first," he replied.

* * *

Rose watched Sherlock examine the bodies. The first victims appeared to have been killed the same as the second set. Single bullet for the husband, five for the wife. The other woman, Molly, joined her. They hadn't been properly introduced. Sherlock seemed to forget things like that, but she knew that's because his mind was too busy trying to solve the puzzle, catch the serial killer before someone else died.

"I'm Molly," the woman said. "Who're you?"

"Rose," she introduced. "Rose Tyler."

"Are you with the Yard then?"

"I'm-"

"Mary's cousin," Sherlock said, without looking up from his examination of the wife's body.

"John's Mary?" Molly asked.

"Yeah," Rose replied. She really didn't like lying to people, but she knew it was necessary.

"And you're here why?"

"She's working with me," he supplied, again without looking up.

The woman's interest became keener and she could tell Molly wanted to be more than friends with Sherlock, though the detective didn't seem to see her that way and she suddenly felt bad. She knew how that felt.

"Really?" Molly said, disbelievingly.

"Yeah, it's a bit like the work I used to do before…" she trailed off, not sure if she should've said that.

"Before?"

"Before she lost her family and moved here to be closer to Mary," Sherlock explained, pocketing his magnifying glass and walking over to join them.

"Oh," Molly said, as if she said something wrong. "Um…sorry."

"'S all right," Rose said, even though it was something she didn't like to talk or think about.

"Are you staying with John and Mary then?"

"No, she's staying with me, actually," Sherlock said, making Rose want to slap him because Molly actually looked like he'd slapped her.

"Sorry…what?" the woman asked.

"We should get back to the flat, go over the evidence Lestrade dropped by," he said, ignoring or oblivious to the look Molly wore as he walked toward the door.

"It was nice meeting you," she said.

"Um…okay," Molly said, sounding a bit out of sorts.

"Come on, Rose," the detective said, holding the door open.

She hurried across the room and out the door. He followed a moment later.

* * *

Sherlock stood back, gazing at the evidence tacked to the wall. Crime scene photos of the victims, the numbers, the rooms, the takeout cartons, both from different restaurants. Two sets of victims so far which would become three tonight if he didn't find the connection. Rose stood beside him quietly gazing over the photos.

"Both sets of victims were targeted. He went to the trouble of intercepting their calls, but why them?" he asked.

"What do we know about them?" she inquired.

"The couples didn't know each other. Nothing in common."

"Are you sure?"

He glanced at her, giving her the same _don't be an idiot _look he usually gave John. She grinned, giving him pause. He narrowed his eyes about to ask what she found so amusing when she spoke.

"Didn't you say both husbands were in the medical field?"

"Yes, but the first was a paramedic and the second a doctor, both worked at different locations, but…" he paused as his eyes widened. "Oh!" He glanced at the photos. "You're right. They were both in the medical field and the wives…the first was having an affair-"

"Wait. What? How do you…" she paused, giving him another grin before he could shoot her another _don't be an idiot _look. "Never mind."

"The second," he continued, turning back to the evidence, "Had a bank account her husband didn't know about." He glanced at her. "But that's not the same as an affair."

"No, which means all we really know is that both wives had secrets," she said.

He glanced at her as her words sank in. It couldn't be…could it?

"What did you say?" he asked.

"Both wives had secrets."

Oh, she was clever.

"That's it!" he exclaimed with a grin that she couldn't help returning. "Husbands in the medical field and wives with secrets."

She watched his entire demeanor change as first shock and then fear crossed his eyes. He made a connection, a bad one.

"What is it?" she asked, the look in his eyes lancing fear through her heart. Something was wrong _really extremely _wrong.

"John," he said and in the next moment he was crossing the room to grab his coat.

She raced after him and out the door the pieces clicking into place. John was a doctor and when she met Mary she knew the woman had secrets. Sherlock thought this had to do with them, either that or they were possible targets.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	19. Countdown Pt2

Incessant hammering on his door brought John to his feet. He hurried across the room and opened it to find his best friend accompanied by Rose. Sherlock shoved his way into the flat.

"Where's Mary?" the detective demanded.

"Um…sofa," John replied, wondering what the hell was going on.

Without an explanation Sherlock hurried across the room. Mary stood up, startled by the intrusion and seemed to take in the importance of the situation as she eyed the detective.

"What's this about?" she asked.

"Murder," Sherlock said.

Rose knew he was worried, but he was being a bit overly dramatic. She rolled her eyes as she crossed the room behind him.

"Sorry…what?" John exclaimed, joining them.

"Four victims. Two couples. Husbands in the medical field and wives with secrets. Sound familiar?" he asked.

John could've punched him if not for the concern in his friend's voice. Mary had secrets, secrets to do with her past and John overlooked that, set it aside because he loved her. He didn't know about her past, didn't want to know and now here was Sherlock bringing it up.

"Wait. You think that has to do with me?" Mary inquired.

"The husband's were killed by a single shot to the head, but the wives…left leg, right leg, three to the chest," he replied, gesturing as if shooting a gun for emphesis.

"Oh, my god," she exclaimed, sitting down as if the strength drained from her.

John hurried to her side, worry racing up his spine. The look in her eyes was enough to tell him she knew who was responsible and whoever it was, was dangerous.

"Who is it?" Sherlock asked, having noted the same look.

"It's all right," Rose said, shooting the detective a glare at his callous behavior as she sat on the other side of Mary, taking the woman's hand.

"Morgan," Mary revealed.

"Morgan?" the detective inquired.

"It's not his real name, but it's him. That's his trademark."

Sherlock eyed her. Someone from Mary's past. He knew John wasn't happy bringing that up, but he vowed to be there for them and this Morgan was dangerous. He could see that in her eyes.

"Who is he?" he asked.

"Special ops, or he was before he went out on his own," Mary said.

There was a lot more to the story. Something happened between them.

"What does he have against you?"

"I…I was sent out to track him down and I did." Mary caught Sherlock's gaze. "It's him, but it can't be."

Rose caught the way she said that, as if there was no possible way the killer could be this Morgan character.

"What do you mean _it can't be_?" she asked.

Mary caught her gaze.

"He's dead. I…I killed him."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked.

"I thought so, but now…I don't know."

"Tell me everything you know about him."

* * *

"We have to go," John insisted.

He'd been nearly beside himself since Mary revealed everything she knew about Morgan. Dangerous didn't even begin to describe the man. If Mary's past was bad Morgan's past was worse.

Rose watched John pace as Sherlock tried to get him to see reason, though she understood why the doctor wasn't in love with the detective's idea.

"You can't," Sherlock insisted. "Trying to leave might very well entice him to attack now."

"So, what's the plan then? We stay _here_. Just sit around and wait for this psycho to come after us. After _her_?" John shook his head. "No, no. I can't do that. I won't!"

"He has seven more targets before he comes for her. That's seven days."

John rounded on Sherlock, anger flushing his face.

"Oh, yeah, and that's supposed to make me feel better, is it? We stay here while he kills seven other couples?"

"I'll find him," the detective insisted.

"And how are you going to do that exactly? You heard what Mary said, he's like smoke. How are you supposed to catch that?"

"He's a man, John, and we both know they make mistakes."

"Brilliant! So we're just waiting for some special ops psycho to make a mistake. And if he doesn't, what then?"

Rose had about enough of the both of them. Mary went into the bedroom to check on their daughter, but she'd been gone quite a while and Rose was starting to get a really bad feeling.

"Girls!" she shouted, jumping to her feet.

Both men eyed her, Sherlock irritated, John angry, but none of that mattered.

"Where's Mary?" she continued when neither one spoke.

"She's checking on-" John began.

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed, cutting his friend off as he realized what she was getting at.

He raced down the hall and into the bedroom. The baby was sleeping in her crib, there was a lock box open on the bed, the clothes Mary was wearing were laid out next to the bed, drawers had been rifled through as if she'd been searching for something in a hurry, but the most prominent tell was the open window that led to the fire escape. He crossed the room and looked out. Gone. _Bloody hell! _

"Where is she?" John asked from behind him.

Sherlock knew what would happen if his friend lost her. It would kill him. He turned around and eyed John.

"I'll find her," he swore.

"No!" the doctor raced over to the window, looking out at the dark night. "Oh, god, no!"

She crossed the room toward him. The pain in his voice lancing her heart. She knew that pain. Had felt it, could still feel it if she allowed.

"John," Rose tried, coming up behind him and resting her hand on his shoulder. "We'll find her. I promise."

"I'm coming too," John insisted.

"No," Sherlock said.

"I'm not staying here."

"You have to, for two reasons," the detective nodded at the crib. "Your daughter and if we're lucky Morgan doesn't know about this. If you leave and aid in our search he might catch on. It could put Mary in danger."

"Fine," John spat and then eyed Sherlock, holding up a finger for emphasis. "You…you find her…whatever it takes…bring her back to me."

The detective held his friend's gaze.

"I will."

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	20. Countdown Pt3

"So, what's the plan?" Rose asked as they stepped out of John's flat.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and began typing a text.

"I'm putting my homeless network on locating her. In the meantime we'll visit a few locations. Places Morgan could be holding out," he explained.

"Homeless network?"

"My eyes and ears all over London."

He sent the text and then slid his phone back into his pocket before hailing a cab. He opened the door and she climbed in, giving him a grin. The longer she knew him the more he surprised her. She liked that about him.

"Ingenious," she said.

He returned her smile.

"I thought so," he replied.

Sherlock gave the cabbie the first address and they started down the road.

* * *

Mary wasn't sure where Morgan was hiding, but she had a few ideas. She knew John wasn't going to take her disappearance well and if she knew Sherlock as well as she thought it wouldn't be long before he began searching for her, but she had to keep her family safe.

She hadn't killed anyone in years and she was afraid of the person she might become if she pulled the trigger. The one who like killing, the rush of adrenaline, holding someone's life in their hands. It was the darkness inside of her. The one Rose spoke of, but with her family's life in danger she didn't have a choice.

Sherlock might be a genius, but Morgan was a cold blooded killer and John couldn't lose both of them. He wouldn't survive it. She stepped into the empty building, pulling her gun and began making her way down the dark hall.

* * *

The cab was pulling up to the third location when Sherlock's phone chimed. He pulled it out, reading the text.

"She's been spotted," he said.

"Where?" Rose asked.

He answered by giving the address to the cabbie. Then he sent a text to Lestrade with the address and the word _hurry_.

"We're not too far off."

"You're armed, yeah?"

He glanced at her, smiling.

"Of course."

She returned his grin.

"Good."

He turned his gaze out the window. He was worried over Mary, but she wasn't the only one on his mind. Rose was…surprising. She hardly knew Mary and yet she deduced that the woman had gone after Morgan. What's more she was putting herself in danger by accompanying him and was doing so without a second thought. As if this were the only decision.

* * *

Mary started up the stairs, but wheeled around a moment later at the sound of the front door opening. She trained her gun on the two people standing inside the door. Sherlock and Rose. She sighed.

"How did you find me?" she asked without lowering her gun.

"Homeless network," he replied.

"You should go. Both of you."

"We're not leaving you," Rose insisted and the intensity of her voice surprised Sherlock.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was deadly serious.

"We're not," he agreed.

"It's too dangerous," Mary insisted.

Rose knew what she was planning and she also knew what it would do to the woman. She couldn't let that happen, couldn't let Mary lose everything she'd worked so hard to gain. Slowly, she crossed the room toward her.

"More dangerous for you, yeah?" she asked.

Sherlock watched Rose cross the room. Mary trained her gun on the girl and half of him wanted to pull Rose back, but he didn't believe Mary would shoot her. Then again, he hadn't thought the woman would shoot him either.

"What do you mean?"

Rose raised her brow.

"You know what I mean."

"I can't…I can't let him hurt John."

"I know and he won't. I promise, he won't, but you can't do this. Not after everything you've done to put this person behind you." Mary's hand wavered. Rose was close enough to look in the woman's eyes. "You owe it to them, to your family. Don't let him take that away from you."

Rose reached her then and, slowly took the gun from her hand. At that moment a shot rang out. Rose pulled Mary to the floor, covering her.

Sherlock's chest tightened in fear as he watched the two women huddle to the floor. Rose used herself to shield Mary and all he could think about was her getting shot. The thought that she might die consumed him. He'd never felt fear that intense. He pulled his gun and rushed across the room, using his own body to shield her. He fired up the stairwell, which was where the shot came from.

Rose shoved Mary toward the front door and out of the line of fire.

"Stay there," she ordered in an authoritative voice that he would've associated more with John because of his friend's military background, but before he could question her, she caught his gaze. "Ready?"

He wanted her to stay back with Mary, out of the line of fire, but he knew she wouldn't. That's not who she was. So, instead he smiled. "Ready."

She grinned in return and they carefully made their way up the stairs.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	21. Countdown Pt4

Sherlock cautiously made his way up the stairs with Rose right behind him. When they reached the third set he heard the door directly above them close. He glanced at her and could see the same idea in her mind. She nodded and they hurried to the door.

He held his gun ready as she opened the door. He aimed, glancing left and then right down the hall. A door at the end closed.

"He's here," Sherlock whispered before stepping into the hall.

She followed and they both held their guns ready as they made their way to the door. At that moment the sound of sirens reached them. He glanced at her and she grinned, giving him a shrug.

"Sent a text to Greg," she whispered.

He returned her grin as they stationed them themselves on each side of the door. He planned to kick the door in and hopefully take Morgan by surprise, but in the next moment the man burst through the door.

Morgan eyed them, but before either of them could aim their guns at him he grabbed Rose by the arm, shaking the gun out of her hand as he backed her down the hall. Sherlock was consumed by one instinct. Protect her at all cost. He aimed his gun at the man.

"Let her go," he demanded.

"So you can shoot me," Morgan laughed.

"If you don't let her go I will shoot you."

"You're a detective, not a sniper Mr. Holmes."

Morgan held Rose in front of him with his arm around her throat. Sherlock tried to get a shot, but he couldn't shoot the man without shooting her. _Bloody hell! _Morgan backed toward the door to the stairs and Sherlock knew once the man got her inside he'd lose both of them. He doubted Morgan would leave her alive once the man got away.

He pushed the panic aside as it threatened to overwhelm him. The thought of losing her, of her dying. It was enough to crack his rational mind, but he couldn't give in to his emotions. If he did he might very well make a mistake and that mistake would cost him a woman he only allowed himself to believe in the dark of night meant something to him. More than something.

Rose couldn't let Morgan get away. She made Mary a promise and she wasn't about to break it. She knew how dangerous her plan was, but she had to try.

"There's something you ought to know me," she said as the man held her in place.

"What's that sweetheart?" Morgan asked, almost whispering in her ear and making her shiver in revulsion.

At that moment Rose elbowed the man in the ribs while stomping on his foot. Then she twisted out of his grip.

"I've had my own military training," she replied with a smirk.

Sherlock took the opportunity she afforded him and fired, striking the man in the leg. At that moment the door to the stairs opened and a host of Scotland Yard's finest led by Inspector Lestrade entered the hall. Half of them trained their guns on Morgan and the other half on Sherlock.

"This is the one we want," Greg said, indicating Morgan.

Rose hurried over to Sherlock as he lowered his gun. To his surprise she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He sighed into her hair, pulling her close as the fear drained out of him. Fear that she could've died, that he could've lost her.

"You were brilliant," she exclaimed, making him smile as a warm feeling crept over him.

"You weren't bad yourself," he replied.

She pulled back and gazed into his eyes.

"I wasn't, was I? I was actually pretty good."

He grinned.

"Watch that ego of yours."

She laughed.

"You're one to talk, yeah?"

Greg watched the two after ordering his men to load Morgan into a patrol car. He smirked. He never thought he'd see the day when Sherlock looked at a woman the way he was looking at Mary's cousin. _Not enough room in John and Mary's flat my arse. _

He walked up to them, clearing his throat. Sherlock glanced at him in annoyance as Rose released the detective, stepping back. Greg smirked again.

"Shut up, Grant," Sherlock snapped.

"It's Greg," both he and Rose corrected, but she ended in a laugh. "So, he's the one then. The serial killer."

"Technically he was a government agent turned rogue and the killings were a means of revenge," Sherlock explained.

"A means of revenge against who?"

"Someone who used to work with him, but died."

"Wait. Died? He was seeking revenge against someone who was already dead?"

Sherlock constructed the lie seconds before he spoke. It had to be good. Had to keep suspicion away from Mary. No one, not even Lestrade could know who she used to be.

"Mary bears a striking resemblance to the agent he worked with and when he saw her I believe his mind snapped. Creating a false reality in which she was the agent," Sherlock explained.

"So he was targeting Mary?" the inspector asked in disbelief.

"And John."

Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck in concern.

"Good thing you found him."

Rose watched Sherlock construct the lie, but she knew what he was doing it. To protect Mary. The woman had been a different person once, but if there's one thing Rose believed it was that everyone deserved a second chance and Mary had changed. She had a family and the last thing Rose would do would be to take that away from her.

"I agree," Sherlock said.

"And…how did you find him?" Lestrade asked.

"Does it matter, inspector?"

"No…um…not really." Greg gazed at him a moment. "Probably better if I don't know."

"Probably."

"I'll need a report."

"I'll stop by in the morning," Sherlock said, but Lestrade hesitated. "I believe Rose has had enough excitement for one night. I'm sure she'd rather not spend the next two hours at the Yard."

Greg glanced at her.

"If you don't mind," she said with a grin that Lestrade returned.

"Yes. Right. I understand, but first thing tomorrow," Greg insisted, eyeing the detective.

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked, ignoring Lestrade as he offered Rose his arm.

She smiled.

"We shall," she replied, taking his arm.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	22. Countdown - Afterward

Just some fluffy afterward stuff. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Rose entered the flat, removing her coat and hung it up right before he hung his. She couldn't help grinning. That was what she was missing. The danger. The excitement. They stopped for fish and chips on the way home, but now curling up on the sofa in front of the telly was definitely in order.

Sherlock turned toward the kitchen. The case was over and that was always the worst part of cases. He needed to occupy his mind until the next one came along, which, hopefully wouldn't be very long.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He glanced at her.

"I have a few experiments I need to get started on," he replied.

She surprised him by taking his hand and began dragging him over to the sofa.

"They can keep, yeah? Watch some telly with me."

He couldn't help grinning at her pleading voice.

"I'm not much for programs."

She drew very close to him, actually leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Please?" she asked and a moment later her lips drew into a pout that somehow obliterated the word _no_ from his vocabulary.

He grinned wider.

"For a bit."

She beamed, but before he could marvel at her smile she pulled him down on the sofa next to her and grabbed the remote, turning the telly on as she snuggled up next to him. He shook his head, another grin surfacing as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She settled on a show and sat the remote next to her, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder.

Was it odd that the itch he usually felt between cases seemed to abate at her contact? At doing something completely ordinary with her? He glanced at her out of the corner of her eye and watched a grin surface. She glanced at him, excitement filling her eyes as she tapped his leg with her hand.

"You'll love this, really. It's a murder mystery."

He raised his brow.

"Haven't we had enough murder for one evening?"

She grinned.

"Don't act like you wouldn't go running out the door if Greg phoned with another one."

"No."

She quirked her brow.

"No?"

"_I _wouldn't go running out the door, as you put it. _We_ would."

She gave him another grin.

"Guess that means I'm stuck with you," she teased.

"Now that you've proven yourself I won't be able to solve a case without my…" he paused.

"Friend?" she supplied.

_Friend. _Yes, that would work…for now.

"Yes. Precisely."

She slapped his chest playfully. He grinned, rubbing the spot.

"What was that for?"

"All I had to do to prove myself was nearly get killed."

"How else were you going to prove yourself?" he asked.

"Oh, shut up," she replied, laughing.

She settled back after that, watching the show, but his mind wasn't on the program. It was on the woman snuggled against his side. She was…surprising. And not someone he ever expected. He thought back to the time John revealed that he was the man's best friend. He never expected to be someone's best friend. And, like John, Rose surprised him. He never expected to feel for anyone what he felt for her. He wasn't sure if she reciprocated his feelings or if she merely thought of him as a friend, like she said, but even if she didn't for now it was enough just to have her there. To have her attention and for her to treat him the way she did.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	23. Surprises

I've been asked if I would bring a certain character into at least one of my Roselocks. So, here you go, hope you all enjoy it! :)

* * *

Sherlock found himself falling into an easy rhythm with Rose. It'd been three days since Morgan and during that time Mycroft's presence had been absent, but he knew better than to believe his brother's attention had been permanently diverted. Mycroft must be busy with national affairs.

During that time she had gone with him on a case for Lestrade because John was taking some time to be with Mary and their daughter. Rose had been as helpful on that case as she'd been with Mary's and he found himself enjoying working with her. She had a way of illuminating things, the same way John could.

During the lulls she helped stave off his boredom and actually helped with his experiments, although she wasn't particularly fond of heads, but he could put those experiments off and run them at the laboratory at St. Barts. Molly's equipment was much more up to date anyway.

It was during one of these experiments the third day out that she glanced at her watch.

"Fish and chips?" she asked.

"Sorry?" he inquired, taking his eyes from the cells under the microscope to glance at her.

"It's lunch and since you won't let me go out on my own…" she trailed off.

He stood up.

"Mycroft is still a danger," he pointed out, walking into the living room.

"Which means I'll have to suffer your company," she teased, shrugging into her coat.

He grinned as he slid his on.

"We all have our crosses to bear. Mine involves a certain blonde and her need force me to watch romantic drivel on the telly."

"Jane Austin is not romantic drivel," she replied, slapping his arm, but she was laughing.

He opened the door and followed her out.

"That's debatable."

"You're so full of it."

"Are you two going out?" Mrs. Hudson asked when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"We're going to grab lunch at the chippy," Rose replied. "Would you like us to bring you back something?"

"Oh, no, dear, but thank you."

"You're welcome," Rose said as Sherlock opened the door and she stepped out.

She took his arm and they started down the road. Things had changed so much in the short time since her memory returned. She still missed her family, desperately sometimes, but John, Mary, Mrs. Hudson and especially Sherlock lessened the pain. She wasn't alone, more than that she had friends. The one whose arm she held had become the most dear to her. His constant presence keeping her from slipping.

"Rosie!" Not only the name, but the voice that called to her from behind, drew her to an immediate stop.

She glanced over her shoulder. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. But he was there, standing maybe thirty meters from her, wearing the familiar coat. Not a parallel version. It was really him.

"Oh, my god," she whispered, barely allowing herself to believe.

Sherlock heard the name, hers, but more of an endearment. He felt her stiffen and then she glanced over her shoulder, drawing him to a halt. Her hand tightened on his arm and then her whispered words. Not afraid, but disbelief.

He followed her gaze. There were other people, but one man in particular, gaze locked on her, stood about thirty meters from them. Broad shoulders, muscular, physically fit, wearing a captain's coat, nineteen forties era, but in pristine condition.

Sherlock glanced at her and watched the hope creep into her eyes. He didn't like that at all. His eyes shot to the man and his brows drew together. Who the hell was this then?

"Jack?" she called, hope welling up in her chest.

Jack's lips split into a wide grin and in the next moment he was running towards her. She released Sherlock and ran, her own smile mirroring her friend. It was. She had no idea how he got there, but he really was there.

"Rosie!" he exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground, spinning her around as she laughed.

Sherlock closed the distance between them. Eyes narrowed, hands twitching, wanting nothing more than to pull her away from him. He didn't know who the man was. She said she lost her family and friends so who the hell was the man whose arms were wrapped around her in a way that made Sherlock want to punch him?

Jack released her after a minute, but kept his arms around her waist gazing into her eyes. He never thought he'd see her again, but it seemed the universe had other ideas. Of all the parallel universes he could've wound up in after that accident he couldn't believe his luck when he watched her step out that door.

He knew that the chances she was his Rosie were slim at best, but he couldn't stop himself calling out, just in case.

"It's really you," he said, grinning as he gazed into her familiar hazel eyes.

"It's really me," she replied, her own grin in place.

Nope. Sherlock didn't like this one bit. The bloke wasn't a relative, not the way he was looking at her, gazing into her eyes. A friend? Possibly, but not just a friend. Right. Best stop this before it went any further. He cleared his throat…loudly.

Rose glanced at Sherlock, remembering that he was there. She gave Jack a smile, releasing him.

"Jack, meet Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock meet Jack," she said, unable to stop the teasing grin that replaced her smile as she watched Jack's eyes widen in shock.

_Sherlock Holmes? _Was Rosie serious? He glanced at her, yep, she was. He grinned widely, gazing over the man. Sherlock…well now, Jack grinned, the man before him was a nice piece of work. A bit thin like the Doctor, but _damn, _definitely a looker with those lips and that hair. Jack drew himself to his full height and offered his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Jack said, pulling out his most charming smile.

Sherlock noted the change in the man and raised his brow.

"Um…right," he replied, shaking the man's hand and shooting Rose a quizzical glance, which she returned with a grin that really didn't tell him anything.

Jack noted the way Sherlock glanced at Rosie and the way Rosie shot the man a grin. Oh…he gave her his own knowing grin.

"So, um…Sherlock Holmes then? I must say, you really do like the pretty boys don't you?" Jack said, giving her a wink.

"I'm sorry…what?" Sherlock exclaimed.

Did Jack just refer to him as a…what'd he say _pretty boy_?

"We're friends, Jack. 'S all," she said, giving Jack's arm a slap.

"Sure you are."

Jack shot her another wink to which she rolled her eyes.

She definitely needed to change the subject because she could see that Sherlock was a bit…out of his area. She grinned, taking both their arms.

"Its lunch and I don't know about you two, but I could eat. First the chippy then we'll exchange stories of how we got here, yeah?" she inquired, glancing at Jack.

She led them down the road without waiting for a reply. Jack was there, did that mean he had a way back? Did she want to go back? If she did she could see Mickey again and she'd have Jack and then there was…but would he even want to see her? Did she want to see him after he walked away? She wasn't alone. She had John, Mary, Mrs. Hudson and…she glanced at the man on her left…Sherlock. She cared for him and he seemed to care for her, but she'd been down that road before. She pushed those thoughts aside. There was time to consider things, consider her options, but now was time for chips.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	24. Swapping Stories

Sherlock sat in the chair near the sofa watching, through narrowed eyes as Rose and Jack at their fish and chips, laughing and joking. He didn't like the way they interacted. The familiarity of it. They were friends, old friends, but he caught the glances Jack shot her, the ones that were more than simply flirting, which seemed to the be part of the man's nature and was less than disconcerting.

It'd been an hour since the chippy and during that time they walked back, Rose insisting that Jack stay. Then there had been a good half hour with Mrs. Hudson who found the man more than pleasant and Jack hadn't been above flirting with his landlady which was more than…disconcerting.

"You were going to tell us of your arrival," Sherlock pressed, leaning forward as he interrupted another round of laughter from the two.

"Oh…," Jack cleared his throat. "Right." The man glanced at Rose, raising his brow.

She glanced at Sherlock and smiled before returning her gaze to her friend. She knew Jack was worried about saying anything in front of the detective, but Sherlock was her friend and he knew about her. She trusted him.

"He's all right," she said.

Sherlock definitely didn't like the way Jack sought her approval over him. It meant she wasn't merely a friend to the man. They were far too close.

"We were working on an experiment with the Weevils," Jack began.

"Weevils?" Rose asked.

"That's what we call them. They're a humanoid species, taller though with fang-like teeth. They got in through the rift and Tosh had an idea about sending them back through. I wasn't in love with the idea at first, but they've been killing a lot of people and we had to try something," Jack explained.

"And you, of course, volunteered to give it a go," she said.

Jack grinned.

"You know me too well, you know that?"

Back to the grinning and looking at each other. Sherlock couldn't have that.

"Then you arrived via the rift. The same manner in which Rose arrived," he said.

"But I thought the Doctor brought you back here?" Jack asked.

The light in Rose's eyes dimmed and that was enough to tell Jack that something had gone horribly wrong. He'd seen that look before when she thought he was dead. He took her hands.

"What happened, Rosie?"

"Her universe collapsed, but she managed to escape," Sherlock interrupted, not liking the way the man was looking at her.

Jack's eyes widened.

"Is that true?"

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Yeah. It was the cracks. They started appearing-" she began.

"Out of nowhere," Jack finished and she caught his gaze. "I've seen them, but they disappeared."

"Sealed up, yeah, but they left a weak point and something was trying to get in from the Void. The weak point shattered and splintered across our universe." At that point he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "They're gone, Jack, all of them. Mum, the Doctor, Dad, Tony."

Sherlock stood up, unable to watch the display any longer. He wanted Jack gone. If they hadn't gone out to the chippy the man might never have found her. They didn't need anyone else. He walked into the kitchen to finish his experiment.

Jack watched Sherlock leave the room. What the hell was his problem? He thought that Rose and the bloke were together, but the man was acting as if her sorrow was an inconvenience. The Doctor wouldn't have done that. He would've been next to her, talking to her, telling her how sorry he was.

"I'm sorry, Rosie. I'm so sorry," Jack said, stroking her hair.

He wouldn't be stuck there for good, not if his team had anything to say about it and he trusted them. He wasn't sure if he could take her with him initially, but if not he would return. She'd lost her family and Jack damn well wasn't going to leave her on her own.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	25. Her Decision

Jack wondered into the kitchen after Rose became engrossed in an old movie. He would've joined her, but he wanted to find out exactly what was going on between her and Sherlock. At first he'd been, well, more than excited to meet the famous detective and the fact that the man was gorgeous just added to that, but when it came to Rosie all of that got pushed to the side.

He'd been pissed when he found out the Doc dropped her back on that parallel world. The Time Lord said he didn't have a choice, but Jack knew how much Rosie loved the Doc, knew that she fought like hell for two years to get back, and then to have the idiot drop her back off. It was beyond him, but he knew about the meta-crisis and, even though he didn't like the idea he thought maybe it would work out.

Now, he knew how wrong he'd been, how wrong they'd both been. Her happily ever after turned into hell and she'd been through it. Survived. If she could find happiness there with someone else then he'd leave her be, but if not, if she was in any kind of danger there was no way in hell he was leaving her behind.

He found Sherlock in the kitchen looking at slides under a microscope. He walked over and casually picked up a pair of clamps off the table. The detective glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and Jack could tell the man was none too pleased he was touching something, but he ignored that.

"How long's she been here?" Jack asked.

Although Rosie told him what happened to the universe she'd been in, how she lost everyone, she hadn't gone into a lot of detail and he didn't want to push her.

"Eight days," Sherlock dismissed, as if it didn't really warrant his attention.

The man didn't even glance up from the microscope.

"Eight days?" Jack asked, surprised.

Rosie was upset, but not _everyone died last week _upset. At that Sherlock actually glanced at him, gazing over him a moment and Jack would've given the man a charming grin if he wasn't so worried about her.

"She _arrived _about three months ago."

Sherlock didn't want have any kind of conversation with Jack, especially about her, but he could see from the way the man's jaw was clenched that putting him off wouldn't work. He sighed in irritation, sitting back to prepare for the inevitable conversation about Mycroft.

Three months? Images began flooding Jack's mind. Rosie wondering around the streets scared and alone. Rosie in a hospital. He forced them aside before they overwhelmed him.

"Three months ago? If she's only been here for eight days then where was she before that?" he asked.

"She was being held by my brother because he wanted information from her. When he couldn't get it himself he brought her to me."

Yep, that was all Jack needed to hear. His hands balled into fists.

It took Sherlock less than a second to realize he might've put that the wrong way. He watched the man's hands ball into fists. He could, of course, deflect or avoid any blows, but he was fairly sure Rose wouldn't be happy with him if he knocked her friend unconscious, no matter how much he wanted to.

"I offered to help Mycroft to get her away from him," he hurriedly continued.

Jack paused, eyeing the man. Was he telling the truth? Rosie seemed to trust him and he admitted that his brother wanted information. If Sherlock really was a threat he wouldn't have admitted that, unless he thought Jack wasn't going anywhere.

"Your brother held her for three months?" Jack snapped. "What the hell did he do to her?"

"He didn't harm her-"

"Didn't-" Jack growled. "HE HELD HER FOR THREE MONTHS!"

"And she'd probably prefer not to be reminded of that," Sherlock snapped, eyeing the man.

Another growl escaped Jack as he tossed the clamps back on the table. He ran his hand through his hair and then sighed, taking hold of the back of a kitchen chair. Okay, she'd been held for three months, but she was fine now, well, she seemed fine, but then Rosie acted fine when she wasn't. Something she picked up from that damn Time Lord. At that moment Jack was furious with the Doc and if the man had been in the room he might've throttled him.

His eyes snapped to Sherlock.

"Your brother wanted information. What kind of information?"

"Rose appeared in his study when she entered this universe. My brother witnessed that. He wanted to know how she did it."

"Did she tell him?"

"She couldn't. When her universe was destroyed and everyone died she had a psychic break. She couldn't remember anything. Only her first name."

At that moment Jack kicked the chair nearest him and it toppled to the floor. Sherlock watched him. He was furious. Probably with Mycroft, but there was something more.

"That tears it! When I go I'm taking her with me," Jack insisted.

Sherlock's eyes shot to the man. What the hell did he just say?

"You're not taking Rose anywhere," he snapped.

"And who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm…" Sherlock paused, not entirely sure what to say. "…her friend."

"Yeah," Jack laughed. "Some friend."

Sherlock glared at the man.

"What do you mean by that?"

"The minute she got upset you walked away! You know what that tells me? You couldn't give a damn about her!"

"I…" he wanted to say it, but the words wouldn't come, refused to come. "I…care about her."

Jack snorted.

"You have a hell of way of showing it! Rosie has been down this road once already and I'll be damned if I'm going to let her heart get ripped out again, especially when I'd be leaving her in danger at the same time."

"Shut up the pair of you!" Rose yelled from the entryway.

Both Jack and Sherlock turned to her. She stood with her arms folded, glaring at them.

"I've had enough decisions made for me in my life and I'll be damned if either one of you are going to decide if I'm staying or leaving. That's my decision to make! Hear me?" She fumed. When neither one of them replied she continued, "Look, you're my friends and I love both of you," at that Sherlock's eyes widened, but she ignored it, "but this is my decision so I don't want to hear another word out of either one of you. The subject is closed!"

With that she stalked through the kitchen, down the hall, up the stairs and slammed her door. Jack glanced at Sherlock who looked like he'd just been dunked in cold water. Jack turned then and walked back into the living room, sitting down in the red patterned chair. Rosie could be stubborn, he knew that, but he knew she was right. She'd had enough people make decisions for her so he'd go along with what she wanted, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	26. Jack and Mycroft

Rose still hadn't come out of her room hours later, but she had a temper. It didn't come out often, but when it did watch out. Jack sat in the red pattern chair lost in thought. Sherlock had gone out after receiving a phone call.

The door opened and Mrs. Hudson _whoo hooed _before stepping inside followed by a middle aged man in a very expensive suit carrying an umbrella in one hand. Jack stood up, not sure who this new man was.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I tried to tell him that Sherlock's out, but he insisted," Mrs. Hudson said.

"It's fine Martha. I don't mind the company if he wants to wait," Jack said, being polite, but Mrs. Hudson gave him a _you don't know what you're in for _look that made him raise his brow.

He looked over the man again. Business or politics. Shrewd. Had the air of someone who was used to getting what he wanted and carried a large ego.

"That's quite civil of you Mr…" the man trailed off.

"Captain Jack Harkness," he said, offering his hand.

The man glanced at it, but made no move to shake.

"Yes, well…Mycroft Holmes, but I'm sure my brother must have mentioned me."

Mycroft? Jack's eyes narrowed as he dropped his hand. This was man who posed a threat against Rose. What he wouldn't give for a gun at that moment.

"Ah, I can see I was correct," Mycroft continued, walking over to Sherlock chair and sitting down.

"Are you going to be all right?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Yes, we're perfectly fine," Mycroft dismissed with a wave of his hand. "You may go."

Jack turned a grin on the older woman.

"We're fine. Thank you, Martha," Jack said.

She returned his smile before stepping out and closing the door. Jack sat back down, eyeing Sherlock's brother. Why was the man there? Did he know Jack was there? Yes, he'd come there for a reason and he insisted on staying even though his brother was out. Mycroft came there to find out who he was.

"Captain Jack Harkness was it?" Mycroft asked after a minute. "I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure."

"Too bad I can't say the same," Jack snapped.

Mycroft's eye narrow as he made a bit of a harrumphing noise, which made Jack grin.

"Are you a client of Sherlock's?"

"I'm…a friend," he replied, carefully, not wanting to let on to whose friend he was.

"A friend of Rose Tyler?" Mycroft asked, surprising him, but he was careful not to show it.

"That would be her," he replied, watching the man.

"How long have you known Ms. Tyler?"

"Must be…almost seven years," he said, honestly, choosing not to lie, there was not point.

"Well, then, you'll know all about her," Mycroft replied with a grin.

Yep, Jack had had about enough of this Mycroft character. He sat forward, eyeing the man.

"I do, but let's just get one thing straight shall we? I don't give a damn who you are, how much money you have or how much power you control there isn't anything…_anything_ in this universe or any other that would ever make me betray her. I would die first and that won't do you any good. I've seen more wars than you've ever heard of, I've been in the trenches, I've killed men with my bare hands, I've been tortured, shot, stabbed, electrocuted. To make myself perfectly clear I've been to hell and you…you don't scare me."

Mycroft could see the truth in the man's eyes. He had indeed endured all that he claimed and more. He would get nowhere with this Captain Jack, which did him no good.

He came there wanting to know who the man was and now he knew. The first chance he got he'd have the man picked up and held, not tortured for information, but held to get him out of the way. Then, when he was ready he would come for her and not even his brother would stand in his way.

"I believe we are in agreement," Mycroft said, standing up. "But know this Mr. Harkness. I always get what I want."

Jack watched Mycroft walk to the door and step out. Only then did he let out the sigh he'd been holding. Mycroft was dangerous. He wasn't afraid of the man, but he was afraid of what Mycroft would do to Rosie. He could see that the man wanted her, he'd seen that look before and he knew what it meant.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	27. Choices

Sherlock stepped into his flat. It was nearly two in the morning and he hoped Jack would be asleep or gone, gone would be best. Then it would just be him and Rose again, which is what it should be. There was still Mycroft to deal with, but his brother hadn't been around for a while and there was always the hope that something more important had come up.

Jack was sitting in John's chair and Sherlock rolled his eyes as he removed his coat. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to her friend. He wasn't tired so he headed into the kitchen to busy himself, hoping the man would take the hint and retire to the room Mrs. Hudson set up for him.

"I met your brother tonight," Jack said, stopping him in his tracks.

He turned around, but Jack hadn't moved. Mycroft had come while he was out. Most likely had waited until he was out.

"What did he want?" Sherlock asked.

"I think we both know what he wants, or should I say, who he wants."

Sherlock crossed the room and sat down in his chair, eyeing the other man. Jack didn't think she was safe and he was back to that again, but Sherlock could handle Mycroft.

"I know my brother," he insisted.

"Then you know how dangerous he is. He wants her and I've seen that look before. Mycroft might not be an insane Time Lord bent on destroying the human race, but he's used to getting what he wants," Jack replied.

He wasn't sure what an _insane Time Lord _was, but he could tell the man didn't think he could keep Rose safe.

"I can protect her."

"Sure about that are you? You've known her less than two weeks. I've known her for years and if there's one thing I know about Rosie it's that she has a way of putting herself right in the middle of danger." Sherlock thought back to when the assassin grabbed her. Jack grinned as if he knew what Sherlock was thinking. "She can't help it. She's like a magnet for it. You can try to protect her all you want, Sherlock, but in the end it's going to come down to a choice. Her or your brother." Sherlock's brows drew together as he thought about that. "You're going to lose one of them. Are you prepared to make that choice? Are you prepared to choose her over your family?" He opened his mouth, but Jack held his hand out. "Don't make the choice now, but if you're not sure, and I damn well mean one hundred percent sure, then you need to let her go."

"She doesn't want to go," he said.

Rose had made it perfectly clear that she wanted to make the decision and he knew why. It's because she hadn't been given a choice when her universe was collapsing, though he couldn't blame her friend for saving her.

"Yeah, I know and she'll hate me for not letting her choose, but I can live with that because she'll be alive." Jack reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a gold chain with a key hanging from it. It was the TARDIS key the Doctor gave him when they were hiding from the Master. He'd run an analysis on it and he still had that in the Torchwood computers. "This key is made of an alien alloy. After my team finds me I'll be able to hone in on it. If she's wearing it I can bring her back where she'll be safe, but it's your choice." Jack caught Sherlock's gaze. "I know you care about her in your own way, but do you love her enough to save her?"

Jack stood up then and set the necklace on the side table. With one last glance he turned and walked out the door and down to the spare room. Sherlock glanced at the necklace after the door closed and a moment later he picked it up. The metal felt odd, cool to the touch, but not cold.

As much as he was loathe to admit it he knew Jack was right. Mycroft had waited until he left, had come to assess the situation, find out who Jack was and what sort of threat the man posed to his plan. That told Sherlock he hadn't become distracted. Taking Rose was still Mycroft's objective.

Sherlock said he could protect her, but how true was that? He wanted to. She managed to find her way into his heart, deeper even than John. What would he become if he lost her at his brother's hand? If he could have saved her and selfishly kept her?

He knew the answer. He would lose himself, spiral out of control and this time he doubted he'd make it back. She was a light in the darkness, his darkness. He didn't want to lose her, but if Mycroft took her he'd lose her anyway and this way she'd be safe.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	28. Idiot Geniuses

I thought I'd throw another chap up since they've been a bit sort. :)

* * *

Sherlock woke to the sound of laughter. Rose and Jack were in the kitchen. He groaned, rolling over, but the sound persisted, even after he pulled a pillow over his head. After a few minutes he sighed, sitting up. Then glanced at the clock. Nine in the morning, but it'd been well after three before he went to bed last night.

His mind had been occupied with a decision he needed to make. Jack wanted to keep Rose safe and her friend didn't think she'd be safe there. Jack might well be right, but it came down to one thing. The decision shouldn't be Jack's and it shouldn't be his either. It should be hers. He stood up and pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. In the next moment a strange zapping sound reached him. He hurried out of the room afraid Rose might've been injured, but found her standing in the kitchen alone.

"He's gone," she said in a small voice.

She turned her gaze on him and as he watched her eyes flooded with tears. He crossed the room, not sure what to do, this sort of thing not being his area, but she made the decision for him as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. His arms wove around her of their own accord and he held her as she cried.

After a few minutes she released him and then turned around, drying her eyes.

"Would you like a cuppa?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

He watched her for a minute, not entirely sure if she was all right.

"Rose," he waited until she looked at him. "Are you…okay?"

"Yeah…I will be."

Jack was gone, but he knew the man would've asked just in case she agreed. They hadn't been fighting, they'd been laughing and it made him wonder why.

"Did you decide, then?" he asked after a minute.

"I'm staying," she replied as she made their tea.

Staying? To be honest he hadn't been sure what she would decide. He hoped she'd stay, but he knew she had friends wherever Jack had come from.

"Why?"

She turned around, handing his cuppa over and grinned.

"Why do you think?"

"I-I don't know."

She gave him a playful shove.

"Idiot genius, you."

He still had no idea what she meant.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm staying you git because you need me and…I need you."

Wait. What? Out of all the reasons she might stay he hadn't expected that.

"You…need me?"

"Yeah, of course," she said, as if it couldn't be anything else.

"Why?"

She grinned.

"Fishing for compliments?"

Compliments? What did she mean by that? He honestly had no idea why she would need him. Her memory was restored. If she left she wouldn't have to fear Mycroft taking her so it couldn't be that. What else was left?

"No, I-I don't understand," he replied.

She continued to grin, but she stepped into his space and took his cup, setting it down. Then she did something he wasn't expecting. She wrapped her arms around his neck, caught his gaze and whispered, "See if you can understand this, yeah?"

In the next moment she pulled him into a kiss and his entire mental process stuttered to a halt. It was as if time itself stopped. Her lips were soft against his and the taste of her was so unlike anything he'd ever tasted before. Sweet and wild. He pulled her closer, deepening their kiss.

Her hand reached up to tangle in his hair. He could feel himself falling over the abyss, but he didn't care. He'd never wanted anything in his entire life as much as he wanted her, not just in that moment, but always.

He heard the door open, but it was a distant noise and he paid it little to no attention. Rose pulled away, breaking their kiss, but he held her against him, gazing into her eyes and that's how Mrs. Hudson found them.

"Oh," the woman exclaimed. "I'm, um…I-"

Rose laughed, disentangling herself from Sherlock's grip, much to his displeasure.

"'S fine. We were just having a cuppa," she said, retrieving her cup.

"Um…okay, well, I, uh, I think I'll come back to straighten in a bit."

"You're already here," Sherlock said, a bit irritably. "Unless you plan on interrupting us later."

Mrs. Hudson stuttered, making Rose laugh.

"Who said there's going to be a later?" she asked, giving him a cheeky grin.

"Oh, I guarantee there will most certainly be a later," he replied as she disappeared into the living room.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson chastised, slapping his arm with a newspaper she picked up from the table.

"What?" he asked.

"You know what."

He gave his landlady a grin as he stepped around her.

"What's this?" Rose asked and he had less than a second to register that she most likely picked up the necklace Jack left on the side table.

"Rose," Sherlock began, but when he reached the room he realized she was holding a paper, something to do with an old case.

That's when he remembered that he put the necklace away last night. If she'd decided to go he would've given it to her, but she was staying and he'd dispose of it as soon as he could.

"What?" she asked, giving him a confused look.

"Um…that's from an old case," he replied, choosing not to explain his previous concern.

She sat the paper back on his desk and flopped down in John's chair. There was still the matter of Mycroft and keeping her safe. There was a way. He thought of it last night when Jack mentioned family. There was one way to make sure Mycroft left her alone for good, though he knew his brother would never forgive him, but he could live with that.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers.

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	29. A Family Affair

Special thanks to ArafelSedai for this chapter! :)

* * *

Mycroft walked up the stairs of 221. Sherlock sent him a text twenty minutes ago indicating he wanted to talk about Ms. Tyler. Hopefully his little brother had come to his senses and realized that in the end there could be only one winner and that, of course, would be Mycroft.

He opened the door and stepped into Sherlock's flat and abruptly stopped. The scene before him was, well, not at all what he expected. Sherlock sat in a chair near the sofa where Ms. Tyler was sitting between both of his parents.

"Mycroft, we've been expecting you," Sherlock greeted, grinning.

Mycroft glared at his brother.

"Had I known mother and father would be here-"

"You would've sent your regrets, which is precisely why I didn't mention their presence."

"Come in Mike," their mother invited. "Have you met your brother's girlfriend?"

Mycroft paused half way across the room.

"I'm sorry…Sherlock's what now?" he asked in surprise.

"Mike's been tied up with work," Rose supplied, "But he's the whole reason we met."

"He is?" their father asked.

"Oh, yes. Mike and I met over tea. I hadn't been in town very long and I was looking for a new place. He's the one who set me up in the spare room."

"That was…nice of you Mike," their mother said as if she couldn't believe it.

"Yes. Quite," Mycroft grumbled, sitting down in the chair on the other side of the sofa.

"That reminds me," Rose said, standing up. "The kettle should be finished. Can I get you a cup of tea, Mycroft?"

"No," he exclaimed and then realized his exclamation. "No, that's quite all right."

"Are you feeling alright, Mike?" their mother asked.

"Yes, mother, I'm fine," he snapped.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted.

"Um…" he glanced at his mother. "I'm sorry mother. I…um…have had a stressful day."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll get better."

"No, unfortunately I don't think it will."

Sherlock couldn't help grinning at that. Mycroft knew he'd been beat. Introducing Rose to their mother as his girlfriend wasn't something he wanted to do, even if she had been, which she wasn't, but they were…he pushed those questions aside. He cared for his parents, but they were ordinary, a burden he had to bare, but Mycroft would never disappoint their mother.

"Ah, well, I'm sure you can find something else to occupy your time, brother mine," Sherlock replied.

"You didn't tell us that you two were living together," their mother said, glancing at Sherlock.

"I'm sorry?" the detective asked.

"I hope you plan on proposing before she's pregnant."

"Mother," both Sherlock and Mycroft shot.

"I only mean if you two are anything like your father and I-"

"Mother," again they both yelled.

"I believe I'm getting a headache," Mycroft wined, rubbing his temples.

"You know what's good for that-" their mother began.

"Tea?" Rose asked, handing a cuppa to Sherlock.

And he never thought he'd been so grateful for an interruption in his entire life. He took the cup.

"I think I need something a bit stronger than tea," he mumbled.

"You two should come to the house for dinner sometime," their mother suggested.

"That would be brilliant," Rose said, taking her position between the two Holmes parents.

Sherlock sighed and then glanced at his brother and decided that even dinner with their parents was worth beating Mycroft at his own game.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	30. Afterward

So sorry it's been forever since an update. Life got away from me as it tends to do on occasion. Anyway, wanted to get the last bit out for this one and start updating the others. :)

* * *

Six months had passed since a game of chess had brought Rose Tyler into Sherlock's life and during that time the lie he told his mother about her being his girlfriend was no longer a lie. She went on cases with him, sometimes with John, sometimes it was just the two of them, and sometimes she stayed behind, leaving him and John to solve them because she knew they needed that.

Their evenings were usually spent on the sofa watching crap telly. Although his life hadn't drastically changed on the outside he had changed on the inside. That itch that was always present, but could be overridden by a case wasn't there when she was near him. She was the light that banished his darkness.

There were dinners with John and Mary, a few with his parents and she somehow managed to make even those not so dreadful. Mycroft still came round occasionally, but he knew that had to do with both his mother and Rose. He would've been happy without his brother's presence, something he pointed out, but for some reason she didn't believe. Lestrade and Molly visited more often because Rose had a way of drawing people to her and she even managed to set Molly up with someone who was neither a psychopath nor homeless. Kevin was his name. He made sure to remember because that was one of the things she did. She always remembered their names.

She told him her story. A mad impossible story. From the day she took the hand of a man who wasn't merely a man in the basement of a department store to the day her new universe collapsed. As he sat down next to her, wrapping his arm around her after she leaned her head back against his shoulder he glanced at her and couldn't help feeling like the luckiest man in the universe because he had the most mad, impossible woman any universe would ever see and she had him.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


End file.
